Jackson
by rebelxxwaltz
Summary: A bit of a 'Population 25' AU. Vic and Sean narrowly avoid crashing when they encounter a bear in the road, and make it to Jackson Hole for their romantic weekend after all. Will the intense dreams that Vic has been having about Walt cause even more problems for her troubled marriage? Walt/Vic. Now complete!
1. Chapter 1

Well hi! Shockingly I have more fic to share already. Blame it on my overactive imagination and all the kind feedback everyone left on my last piece! This is in fact a multi-part story, planned to run about five chapters or so. Nothing epic, but hopefully interesting and a bit hot. ;D

This is the first chapter, which serves as a bit of a prologue to the overall story. Hope you guys will like it!

**Jackson  
><strong>**Part I**

_**Tuesday Night**_

Pajamas? _Check. _

Funky herbal tea that promotes a more 'fully restful' night's sleep? _Check. _

Fluffy comforter? _Definitely check._

Husband? _Non-check. He will be in Billings until tomorrow afternoon, and you are leaving for Jackson Hole on Thursday._

Inappropriate sexual thoughts about your boss? _Check, check, and check again. Yeah. Like herbal tea is going to stop you from having __'__those__' __dreams about Walt. _

Vic had been having the dreams for a while now, and although they weren't the only reason why she was glad Sean was spending so much time away for work she could admit that they factored in. Waking up sweaty and tangled in the sheets after an imaginary sex romp with your superior officer was a lot less awkward _without_ your actual husband lying next to you, it had to be said.

Sighing, she fell back against the pillows and glared at the chamomile-scented steam wafting from the mug on the bedside table. This was not helping. She didn't even _like_ chamomile, and she was pretty sure the point of these so-called 'Celestial Seasonings' was not to make you angrier than you were before steeping the damn environmentally friendly stringless tree-hugging teabags.

Oh well. Maybe she wouldn't dream about… _that_… tonight anyway. Vic had eaten a deliberately bland diet throughout the day, nothing spicy and a simple salad for dinner. No cheese. Wasn't it cheese that gave you the crazy dreams?

She'd certainly had a doozie last week when she had recklessly wolfed down one of Henry's chili cheeseburgers at the Red Pony after forgetting to eat all day. The fact that she'd been joined at the hip with Walt all afternoon and evening hadn't helped on that occasion, especially not with him in the dark blue textured flannel shirt that just made her want to reach over and _pet him_.

_Note to self: do not use the phrase 'joined at the hip' while entertaining thoughts of Walt. Just… __**don't.**_

Somewhere between arguing with herself about semantics and wondering who came up with the dumb idea of counting sheep to make people fall asleep at night Vic drifted off, slumped against the pillows with the blankets tucked up around her chest. Her slumber would be restful indeed, but her wishes for a dreamless sleep were destined to go unanswered…

_**xxx Vic's Dreamland xxx**_

"_Walt just called, there's a situation at the Red Pony." _

Vic flipped her untidy ponytail to the side, peeking at her newly acquired charge out of the corner of her eye as they traversed the gravel surface of the parking lot. The 'situation' was in hand, and his car keys were in his pocket where they evidently belonged. Walt wasn't drunk, not by Red Pony standards anyway. A bit tipsy, maybe. His body language was more relaxed than usual, his movements on the looser side like a big cat at play.

"Hope I didn't interrupt anything important," he drawled.

"Not much. Just some particularly breathtaking sex."

"I didn't know your husband was back in town. Anyway, I thought you two were fighting."

Were they _really_ having this conversation? She threw him a look over her shoulder.

"We _are_. Which is why the sex was so magnificent."

"Well," he paused, clearly still sober enough to make sure the tailgate of his truck was locked as they passed by. "Then uhh… I'll have to apologize to your husband."

He might be under the legal limit for drunkenness, but the way he smiled at her just then should most definitely be considered an arrestable offense.

Raising an eyebrow, she pressed her lips together and twisted them to the side. "I'm pretty sure that's not such a good idea."

They walked the remaining few yards to Vic's truck side by side, his bicep brushing against her shoulder. "Why not? Seems like the polite thing to do."

Vic's higher consciousness was vaguely aware that this was _not_ how the conversation had gone in real life. In real life Ruby had summoned them over the radio, and they would have been back to business and on their way to the Sublettes by now.

"Because he thinks I'm _fucking _you. That's why."

Walt pinned her with a drawn out look, seemingly unaffected by this piece of information. She broke the slightly unnerving eye contact, looking at her boots as he opened the passenger side door and poured himself into the truck.

The call from Ruby never came, and fifteen minutes later they had pulled up outside of Walt's cabin. He made no immediate move to leave the vehicle, so she put it in park and watched him glance out the window with his hands resting atop denim-clad thighs.

"You wanna come in for a few minutes? I can make you some coffee, or…"

She released a snort of laughter. "Why, you need help getting your key in the lock?"

There was a banked heat behind his gaze that took her by surprise. "Nope."

…Oh. When had her mouth transformed into an innuendo factory? And why was Walt so goddamn _calm_ about it all?

Vic absently registered that she was now alone in the truck, and Walt was walking toward the front of the cabin with those familiar long strides. She knew he was expecting her to follow, so she cut the engine and hopped out of the driver's seat. Levering herself up onto the porch, she shook her head at the puzzling lack of steps. Easy enough for his 6'2" frame to deal with, but clambering up onto the platform made Vic feel like a four year old.

By the time she followed him through the door he had removed his jacket and placed his hat brim-up on the side table next to the answering machine. There was dim light from a small reading lamp, just enough to cast a warm glow over the room. Vic shut the door behind her and stood in front of it, waiting for her host to provide a clue on what she should do next.

Walt was standing a few feet away in the middle of the room, stock still but radiating a sudden tension. Unless that was Vic's own wild imagination playing tricks on her, addled by the low light and the silence and the fact that they were totally isolated here. Her eyes were drawn to his right hand as the fingers curled and flexed, a seemingly involuntary tell that made the suspense just that much more tangible.

A few seconds later, the dam finally broke. Strangely, the first thing Vic noticed was the sensation of the doorknob digging into the small of her back. The minor discomfort was swiftly overshadowed by Walt in front of her, grasping both sides of her face with his large hands and crushing his lips onto hers.

The initial violence of the contact quickly gentled into something deep and warm and alarmingly synchronized. Vic slumped against the doorframe as Walt's tongue plundered her mouth, her hands sweeping up to latch onto his wrists as his fingers slid from the skin of her cheeks further back and into her already disheveled hair. It was all too easy to drag her touch up the line of his arms until she was grasping at his solid shoulders and urging him even nearer.

One of his arms wrapped around her waist, yanking her to the side when the back of his hand encountered the pesky obstacle of the doorknob behind them. Flattening her against the wall he pushed the length of his body as close as possible, sliding one knee between her legs and pressing upward. The kiss broke and Vic inhaled sharply, hazily registering the sight of wild blue eyes peering down at her from a highly immediate vantage. Walt blinked slowly, transmitting unmistakeable arousal with a carefully placed roll of his hips.

"Ohhh…" Her breathy moan broke the silence, and Vic had the impression that the sound rattled them both. What the hell were they doing? She was surprised to feel no particular impulse toward guilt at their actions, instead being wrapped in a blanket of pleasure and overwhelming rightness. Was morality considered optional in this messed up dreamland? Vic chose to follow her instincts, stretching up to kiss him again. Her confidence seemed to spur Walt on, and teasing exploration quickly morphed into a consuming heat.

She latched both arms around his neck, molding her chest and abdomen against the solid bulk of him and holding on for dear life as his lips blazed a damp trail to the sensitive skin below her ear. Vic was so dizzy and out of it that she almost didn't notice when Walt lifted her up off the floor. He gripped the outside of her thigh and the soft curved area just below her ass, encouraging her legs to wrap around his waist. With a slight grunt of effort he turned them around, walking her backwards and through an adjacent doorway that presumably led to his bedroom.

The next thing she knew, they had collapsed on top of the feathery comforter and he was tugging at the buttons on the front of her uniform as their legs tangled together and she worked her hands inside his shirt to explore the bare skin of his lower back. He growled her name into the hollow above her collarbone as he wrestled with the fastenings of her jeans and slid one calloused hand up her ribcage beneath her undershirt.

It occurred to Vic that being laid out flat on the bed negated their height difference, and she arched and twisted until their hips were in perfect alignment. Walt was large and hard and pressing in right where she needed him, and she shuddered at the tantalizing friction offered by the clothing that still separated them as they rocked against each other. She'd managed to get the front of his shirt open, flattening her arms against his sides and digging hungry fingertips into his heated skin. Her ribbed tank top was rucked up all the way to the bottom of her bra, allowing their bare torsos to mold together.

Walt reared up onto his knees, sliding his arms beneath Vic and heaving her further up the bed so her head and shoulders rested on the pillows. His shirt and the front of his jeans were hanging open— when had she managed to accomplish _that_?— and some hair had fallen across his eyes. He knelt between her splayed legs, moving his hands around and dragging his palms from just below her breasts down to the loosened waistband of her pants. They were both breathing heavily as his fingers continued along that path, hooking into both the denim and the black cotton of her underwear and sliding them over her hips.

Vic wasn't sure she had ever been so aroused. At first she figured the shrill beeping noise she could suddenly hear was just her brain short-circuiting due to the sensual assault of Walt's steady hands or the frenzied, indecent interrogation that his mouth was currently performing upon hers.

But the volume of the repetitive signal increased and the scene began to turn white around the edges. Walt's electrifying touch became a frustrating, nebulous memory as consciousness overtook her.

_**xxxxx**_

Back in the real world, Vic Moretti resisted the urge to smash her angrily buzzing alarm clock. One arm thrown across her eyes to shield them from the sudden glare of the morning sun, she groaned in exasperation and stretched her legs to alleviate some of the accumulated tension.

Indistinct but oddly powerful recollections of her dream danced through the periphery of Vic's sleep-bleary vision, phantom impressions of Walt Longmire telegraphing their way across her overstimulated mind _and_ her neglected skin.

"Oh my fucking God…"

This was going to be a long week.

**xxxxx  
>xxxxx<strong>

Welp, there's the beginning. Let me know what you think of it! Vic and Sean will be off to Jackson Hole in the next chapter, so that ought to be fun.

I'm not as speedy or prolific as some of you folks, so this will probably update about once a week for the time being. I always accept pokes in the form of reviews, which are a highly effective motivational tool… ;D


	2. Chapter 2

I'm happy to say I was able to finish up the second chapter of this sooner than expected! The next bit should be along in about a week's time. :D

**Jackson  
><strong>**Part II**

_**Thursday**_

"Work stress doesn't disappear in a few seconds."

Vic put on her most earnest smile, cutting through the exhaustion of a sleepless night because she honestly didn't want Sean to feel bad. He was giving her a skeptical look, but she could see the corners of his mouth turn up just slightly as she nodded her head and continued to grin.

"It takes a few minutes, cruising in a convertible, listening to some 80's hair metal…"

The dubious assurances of Slayer and Whitesnake seemed to placate him for the moment, and they were soon off on their journey in probably the only convertible rental car available in the state of Wyoming.

Vic's 'work stress' had been one of the reasons for her lack of sleep the previous night. There was so much going on right now that she felt guilty using personal time for this trip. Sure, Walt had taken one of his days not that long ago, but in typical Longmire fashion he had used his supposed 'vacation day' to investigate yet another crime.

Between wrap up on recent cases, the situation with Henry, and Vic's steadily increasing worries about Branch's conduct and overall sanity it just seemed like the worst possible time to be away. She felt terrible leaving Walt with everything on his plate, even if he did have Ferg and Ruby to rely on. Her sense of responsibility, of course, did nothing but cause yet another argument with Sean about her seeming inability to detach herself from Walt and the inappropriate extent to which the other man monopolized Vic's time.

Her sleeplessness had been enhanced and exacerbated by the prospect of Walt also occupying the space of her dreams, which was most certainly not a situation that she wanted to share with her husband. More than 24 hours later she could still feel heat shooting through her at the mere thought of the scenario presented by her unconscious mind, and she briefly wondered if perhaps a little time away from Walt might not be such a bad thing after all… if she wanted to stay married, that is.

Initially the wind on Vic's face had seemed pleasant and refreshing, but as they navigated the winding forest-sheltered roads and sped around the myriad curves the hair whipping into her eyes and against her cheek became more of an annoyance. She was starting to get cold, and Sean's singing frankly left quite a bit to be desired.

"Can we uh… pull over so we can put the top up?"

"What? What's the point of having a convertible if you can't feel the wind in your hair?"

She refrained from commenting about Sean's lack of understanding concerning how long hair actually functioned, brushing the blowing strands away from her mouth in annoyance. "Come on, it'll only take a few seconds. I'm _freezing_ and these curves are making me sick. I think I'm gonna throw up."

Maybe she was being childish and overly difficult, but the way he huffed and rolled his eyes as she spoke brought on an unusually passive-aggressive response. Normally Vic was a definite proponent of the aggressive-aggressive method, but that worked a hell of a lot better on uncooperative suspects than it tended to on one's spouse.

The sudden screech of brakes jolted her out of her unhappy reverie, as she spotted the bear in the middle of their lane.

"Oh my fucking God—" It seemed to be the phrase of the week.

They both screamed, but Sean had noticed the wild animal just in time to take evasive action and swerve into the opposite lane without losing control of the vehicle. He struggled to keep the car on the road, tires squealing as they zigzagged across the yellow line and back onto the correct side of the pavement, decelerating and rolling to a stop on the narrow shoulder along the next straightaway.

Sean was breathing heavily, leaning back against the headrest with both hands still gripped tight over the steering wheel. They were silent for a protracted moment as AC/DC's 'Highway to Hell' droned ironically in the background.

"So… can we put the top up _now_?"

Radiating hostility, Sean glared and performed the motions necessary to cover the vehicle. Stretching her legs in front of her in the passenger seat, Vic absently realized that she was being a bit of a bitch. And yet? She wasn't sure if she was willing or able to stop.

The remaining hours of their journey were taken in an antagonistic near-silence, all the way through the middle of Jackson and to the 'surprise' destination Sean had chosen for them, which appeared to be a high-end but cozily outfitted inn on the outskirts of town. The lobby was spacious, warmly lit, and aggressively log-cabin-themed. It was completely un-Sean, and Vic assumed this was his way of trying to embrace the more rustic aspects of their Wyoming life.

In point of fact, all Sean had achieved in choosing such a venue was to make Vic think of Walt— Walt's cabin with the crackling fire and the Indian blankets and the rough-hewn beams, not to mention the occupant's wet naked torso glistening in the firelight.

_What the hell are you doing? Don't think about that now!_

Vic pasted a small smile onto her face, both a conciliatory gesture and a means of hiding her unfiltered impressions. Sean was still looking agitated, but after checking in and collecting their room keys he swept his arm around to indicate their surroundings and peered at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Well. What do you think?"

He was trying, and it made her want to try, too. She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it and inviting him to take the lead. "It's really nice," She arched an eyebrow. "Let's go check out the room."

**x**

The room itself was comfortably appointed, with décor similar to what they had seen in the lobby and even a small attached kitchen unit so that they could be as self-sufficient as they pleased. The furnishings were simple but refined, an elevated interpretation of an old school mountainside lodge. A set of French doors led out onto a small porch-like balcony with an impressive view out to the Teton range.

Once they had brought their belongings into the room Sean seemed to brighten up a bit, excited at the prospect of their weekend away. He suggested that they go for a walk into town to pick up a few supplies, maybe a bottle of Champagne. Vic told him to go ahead without her, as she was a bit tired from the journey and wanted to rest up and settle in. He masked his disappointment while she gave assurances that she'd be more than delighted to pop some bubbly with him when he got back.

Vic threw on a light sweater and perched for a while in one of the wooden chairs on the balcony. In all honesty, she figured she and Sean could use a few minutes to themselves after the stressful trip here. It was an unfortunate truth about their marriage that they were so unaccustomed to spending long stretches of time together that a five hour drive could leave them in such an overwrought state.

The mountains were truly spectacular in the fading daylight, but they put her in mind of more ominous memories. The way the peaks loomed and appeared to grow as night began to fall had Vic thinking back to a colder night on another mountain, and the frozen ball of dread in the pit of her stomach as she'd watched Walt disappear into the snow-shrouded wilderness. That dread had grown into panic as the hours passed, eventually erupting out through her fist and into the side of Special Agent Towson's smug face.

A shiver went down Vic's spine, and she retreated into the warmth of the room. The plush king size bed was certainly a hell of a lot more comfortable than the wooden bench at the station had been that night, but even then she'd felt like it must have been wrong for her to be safe and warm while Walt was out there all alone putting his life on the line in that blizzard. She swallowed heavily as she relaxed against the expertly fluffed pillows.

That long-ago night was when she had finally been forced to acknowledge that her feelings for Walt were much more complicated than simple admiration or a healthy professional friendship. Still exhausted from the events of the day and disturbed by her own wandering thoughts, Vic fell into a fretful slumber.

_**xxx Vic's Dreamland xxx**_

"_I got one bar. I don't know where I am, but I know I've come too far to go back."_

They could so easily have been the last intelligible words she would ever hear him say. The crackling on the other end of the line was like something out of a nightmare, an invisible enemy standing between Vic and assurances of Walt's safety. Her stomach was so tied up in knots that even the coffee Ferg insisted on providing fell victim to the rolling, clenching, nauseous _fear _that had settled in at the very core of her.

When the FBI had finally given clearance to send up a chopper, Ferg and Vic had rushed to the airfield like the hounds of hell were snapping at their heels. Vic had even agreed to let Ferg drive them there in the Trans Am, dimly aware of the fact that she might not actually be in a fit state to operate a vehicle. To pretty much nobody's surprise, neither deputy had been allowed to join the rescue mission. Vic had never been more grateful for Ferg, who was able to calm her sufficiently to avoid any further physical altercation with the self-satisfied Feds.

They had been informed that all involved parties were being flown to the hospital in Sheridan, so they'd headed off on the hour-long drive, achieved it in thirty-eight minutes, and ended up waiting for the damn helicopter anyway. Vic was a seasoned expert at cutting through red tape, but she couldn't get information out of anyone regarding Walt's status or condition. The sensitive and newsworthy nature of the events on the mountain meant that it was a further forty minutes before she was allowed onto the ward, with Ferg reluctantly agreeing to stay in the waiting room.

When she rounded a corner only to spot Walt, standing upright and looking disheveled but unmistakably _alive_, her knees went embarrassingly weak with relief. Walt was engaged in what appeared to be a fractious conversation with a satisfyingly bruised Agent Towson, hands on his hips in that familiar sheriff's pose.

Vic absently registered Towson attempting to scold Walt about his own recklessness and the 'conduct of his deputies,' while Walt regarded the younger man dismissively and suggested that he direct any further complaints to the Absaroka County Sheriff's Office in writing. She was so relieved to see him that she couldn't even take time to savor the burn.

As Towson stalked away, Walt turned toward her and the din of strangers in the background seemed to fall away. He was standing there, looking battered and slightly saturated with his hat in one hand and his hair sticking out in several directions. He took slow steps toward her, and Vic's eyebrows crinkled in confusion as he reached into his jacket pocket. He extracted a small rectangular item and held it toward her.

"I, uhh…" He paused and cleared his throat, voice a rumbling murmur. "I think I broke your cellphone."

She ignored his outstretched hand and threw her arms around him, uncaring of who might see. He returned the embrace, crushing her against him as her face pressed into the still-damp material of his coat. Vic clung to Walt for long moments, needing to feel the warmth and vitality emanating from his solid frame. When she finally lifted her head to look him in the face, she knew that it wasn't enough.

Eyes darting around the hospital corridor, Vic spotted the nearest open door. After a quick glance inside, she pulled Walt through it and ensured that it clicked shut behind them. It appeared to be a small nurse's station, full of supplies and assorted medical provisions. It could have been full of brooms and mop buckets for all Vic cared, as long as they had some privacy.

Walt's compliance was somewhat surprising, and he remained still as she drank in the sight of him. After setting his hat aside she placed a hand on his bicep, standing close and looking him over carefully as if she couldn't believe he had returned from the ordeal totally unharmed. Walt seemed to sense her need to know that he really was okay, quirking a small smile as he submitted to the examination.

"Still got all my fingers and toes." He showed his hands, wiggling the fingers briefly before dropping them to his sides.

His attempt to lighten the mood filled Vic with a surprising rage, and she reached her hands up to grip the collar of his coat. "You…" She could hardly speak, the words becoming caught in her throat as hot tears threatened to spill from her eyes.

Frustrated and overwhelmed with conflicting impulses, Vic swayed toward Walt and beat her hands angrily against his chest. "You _stupid __**idiot**__, _don't ever fucking do something like that again!"

The tears streamed down her face, and her blows gradually weakened and eventually ceased as he drew her close and gently cradled her body against his. She exhaled shakily at the feeling of his thumb wiping the salty moisture away from her cheek.

"I'm still here, Vic. I'm fine, see?"

"You could have died up there. I thought I was never gonna see you again and I just… I couldn't handle that, Walt."

His reply was a husky whisper, his face near enough that she could feel his breath on the side of her face. "I'm not going anywhere."

She looked up and studied the subtle play of emotions in his countenance through the haze of tears. Without a second thought, one of her hands left Walt's chest. It slid up the side of his neck, over the hair behind his ear, gripping at the back of his head and pulling him down so that her lips could lock desperately onto his.

Vic's aggression was in some ways unsurprising as she kissed him with characteristic boldness. Her teeth pulled insistently at Walt's bottom lip until he opened to admit her tongue, and she proceeded to taste and catalog every corner of his mouth. What was more of a shock to Vic was the ferocity of his response. Walt made a deep broken noise that she could feel through his breastbone where one of her hands still rested. His tongue nudged firmly against hers, stroking and sweeping as their mouths moved rhythmically.

Tightening his arms around her, one of Walt's hands grasped Vic's shoulder blade while the other dragged down her spine to the opposite hip and gathered her in, nearly lifting her off the floor in his bid to bring her closer. One hand traveled from her shoulder up to her neck, fingers caressing the skin at her hairline and causing her to shiver against him. Then his thumb was by her earlobe and his hand was gliding into her hair as he tilted her head back to kiss her even deeper.

When their lips finally broke apart Vic's eyes fluttered open. She had no idea when she had closed them or how long they had been kissing. Walt's lips were inches away and he was peering at her intently. Their bodies were fused, Vic fully enveloped by Walt's arms, and she could feel the tears cooling on her face. He seemed to notice the tear tracks too, slowly tilting his head to brush his lips over each cheek in turn and kissing away the evidence of her pain.

Arms wrapped around his neck, Vic allowed Walt to support her weight as their foreheads pressed together tenderly and one of his hands rubbed up and down her back in a move that was comforting but undeniably sensual. There was a long quiet moment, both of them absorbing the presence of the other and basking in the affectionate exchange.

She wanted to kiss him again, badly, but she waited. Vic knew Walt Longmire well enough to realize that his silences had _flavors_, and this one had all the earmarks of him working up the steam to actually _say_ something.

The fingers of one hand swept up to stroke softly over the skin of her face, his eyes darkening to a deep cobalt as the pad of his thumb traced across her parted lips.

"Vic, I—"

**xxxxx**

"—found your favorite at the wine store! You know, the really expensive Pinot Grigio that your mother always buys for important parties?"

Vic surfaced slowly from her floaty Walt-filled fantasy land, disoriented gaze gradually focusing in on Sean with a familiar bottle of white wine in one hand and what appeared to be a decent Napa Valley sparkler in the other. He was smiling, and he looked totally sincere and eager to please. She couldn't have felt much guiltier if she had just been kissing Walt for real.

"Come on, sleepyhead! You can't nap through the first night. I even found some chocolate-covered strawberries."

"Sean, I'm allergic to strawberries. You know that." Vic cringed, digging the heel of her hand into her left eye socket as she swung her legs off the side of the bed.

Wrong-footed, he at least had the decency to look abashed. "Oh… well, if you're hungry we can go out and grab some dinner in a while. You wanna pop the cork or should I?"

"You go ahead."

_Yeah, you go ahead and pop that cork while I try to clear these dreams out of my mind at least for long enough to pretend I give a shit._

It was a hell of a lot harder than it sounded, Vic thought, but not as hard as figuring out what she was supposed to do about the fact that she was married to one man and madly, deeply in love with another.

**xxxxx  
><strong>**xxxxx**

Well, it looks like Vic and Sean's weekend is getting off to a fantastic start— not. :P

Let me know what you thought about this chapter! Can Vic and Sean actually have some fun together? Will Vic's nights be sleepless or filled with dreams? And what about that Gorski guy, anyway? Thanks to everyone who has left feedback so far, I really appreciate your comments!


	3. Chapter 3

Here's the next chapter! Bit of language in this bit, between Vic's thoughts and everything else. She's not exactly having the best day, here. :P

**Jackson  
><strong>**Part III**

_**Friday Afternoon**_

Jackson, it had to be said, was a lot nicer than your typical resort town. Sure, parts of it were kitschy and geared toward the skiers and tourists that flocked there in the winter months, but as Vic and Sean strolled down Broadway and around the Town Square she had to acknowledge that the place had a certain artistic western charm.

The morning had been spent pleasantly enough. The kitchen facilities allowed Vic and Sean the luxury of being able to have a lazy lie-in without needing to leave the room for much-needed coffee. The weather was brisk but sunny, so they sat out on the balcony and chatted while they enjoyed their caffeine and soaked up the panoramic view of the mountains.

They had walked into town with nothing particular in mind, exploring the shops and stopping off for a satisfying late breakfast/early lunch in a café on Cache St. It has been the most at ease she'd felt in Sean's presence for a while now, and it made her think back to days in Philadelphia that seemed so long ago. The start of their relationship had been filled with laughter and fun excursions, and it was hard to reconcile that with this current reality where they were so disconnected from one another. Could they really start to fix things with something as simple as just peacefully eating a meal together?

In a way Vic was surprised that Sean hadn't been more insistent about sex the night before. The memories and further imaginings stirred up during her nap, not to mention the damn _strawberries,_ had left Vic in a darkly contemplative mood that she couldn't quite recover from even with the aid of several glasses of good quality wine. Maybe both of them were finally starting to understand the futility of trying to patch over the trouble spots with sex, or maybe it was a sign that he was starting to give up… Vic suspected that by the end of the weekend, she might just know.

Vic had elected to stay outside while Sean browsed through a large fly fishing outfitter, partly to enjoy the sunshine but also with the ulterior motive of checking the cellphone that was carefully concealed within the inside pocket of her light jacket. Yes, she'd told Sean she was going to leave it home. But with everything going on at work she would have been way too on edge without it. Which, to Vic's way of thinking, would only have led to further arguments and strife.

Discreetly extracting the phone from her pocket, she stepped further under the shop's awning to avoid the glare from the sun. She unlocked the phone and glanced at the icons on the toolbar. No calls, one text message sent… she frowned slightly. A text message sent approximately twenty seconds ago? Vic touched the appropriate area of the screen to open her messages, the pit of dread growing in her stomach as she noticed the number the text had been sent from— the contact was unlabeled, but the Philadelphia area code made it all too recognizable.

_**Check your six, Moretti.**_

She whipped around, knowing by instinct from her unforgotten academy training that 6 o'clock means 'look behind you.' Her eyes scanned the street in the direction she and Sean had just come from, only to spot an unpleasantly familiar figure waving faux-cheerfully at her from an umbrella-covered bistro table outside a coffee shop on the opposite sidewalk.

_Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me. _

Vic stowed her phone back in its pocket and averted her gaze just as Sean emerged from the shop with a small parcel. She smiled woodenly, mind reeling as they approached the nearest street corner. Sean was ready to head back to the inn, but Vic knew that there was something else that she needed to do first. She looked over her shoulder, hating that smug half-grin even from a distance.

_Just what I need right now. Ed fucking Gorski._

**x**

Chewing on the lie she'd just concocted in order to split off from Sean, Vic felt exponentially lower than she had about bringing the cellphone or hiding her gun and badge in the bottom of her duffel bag. Yes, she'd brought those too. In her haste to cook up a plausible excuse for her solo excursion, Vic had told Sean that she'd seen a lingerie shop back on King St. and thought she might, you know, go and pick up a little something.

Yeah, great. Lying, concealing the fact that she was being stalked, using sex that she wasn't even sure she was interested in as an enticement… she might as well just tell Sean about her X-rated Walt dreams and go hire a good divorce attorney right now. Maybe Cady could give her a referral? That conversation would go well. "Hey, Cady. I've got a rampaging love/lust 'thing' for your dad. By the way, do you know any good divorce lawyers?"

As she hurried back in the direction of where she'd seen Gorski, she wished she had her sidearm with her, at the very least. Not that he was likely to try anything right out in the open, but time had taught her not to trust.

The bastard even had a coffee waiting for her, fixed exactly the way she liked it.

"Heyyyyyy Moretti! They're really serious about this 'cowboy coffee' thing out here in the west. Beats the hell out of the piss they serve at Starbucks, eh?"

She perched stiffly on the edge of the chair across from him. "What do you want, Ed?"

"You always act like you're not happy to see me, I don't get it."

Leaning forward, Vic employed her best intimidation face. "Yeah, well, my life tends to start sucking when you show up."

Ed laughed, displaying a new-and-improved row of teeth. "And you think that's _my_ fault? Sounds like _someone_ has a guilty conscience."

That brought her up short, if for no other reason than that she _did_. But her guilt, her doubts and misgivings, had nothing to do with Ed Gorski— not anymore— and he had no way of knowing what was in her heart and mind. She had no intention of letting the son of a bitch reach into her private thoughts to manipulate her into turning against herself, but Ed seemed to have a knack for getting under her skin.

Crossing his arms casually, Ed tipped his chair back. "By the way, I saw your boyfriend before I left Durant yesterday. He didn't see _me, _but you know, I didn't want to _bother_ him or anything."

"Walt isn't my boyfriend."

Vic realized her mistake as soon as the words passed her lips, and it took every ounce of willpower she had to keep her hand from flying up to cover her mouth like a third grader who'd just said the f-word in front of her parents.

As expected, her slip-up seemed to bring Ed great amusement. "Funny how you knew exactly who I was talking about! Walt, Walt, _Walt. _Now there's a man who could use a bit of fun in his life— always so _serious. _Bet you could find a way to loosen him up a bit…_"_

"Look. I don't know why you're here or what you think you can do, but I'm not gonna let you hurt anybody else."

His eyes narrowed. "Why would _I_ need to hurt anyone? You're doing such a good job on your own, Vic. I can just stand on the sidelines and watch you crash and burn."

Rising, she faced him down, hands on her hips for confidence and emphasis. "I hate to disappoint you, but everything's good here. I'm gonna have a great weekend with my husband, go back home, do my job, live my life. Maybe you should go live _yours_ and leave me the hell alone, Ed."

"Wow, I sure am glad to hear things are going _soooo_ well." He let her take several steps away from him before continuing, his timing just right to disrupt the ebb and flow of panic and relief that warred within her. "I saw Sean, too, last night after I got into town. How is Sean these days anyhow?"

Vic paused, throwing a pissed-off glare over her shoulder. She knew his question was rhetorical, so she remained silent.

Her erstwhile stalker seemed unperturbed by the hostile response, and with Ed the sting always came right at the end. "Boy, he must really have a thing for strawberries, because I could have _sworn _you were allergic!"

And there it was, the string to tie it all together. _I know you better than your own husband does, _he was saying. _I know what and who you__'__re __**really**__ thinking about. _She'd let Ed Gorski under her guard _again_, and Vic wasn't sure who she hated more just then— Ed, or herself.

"Catch you later, Moretti. Go Phillies!"

**x**

She had walked back to the inn on auto-pilot, at one point nearly failing to notice a 'DO NOT WALK' sign at one of the busier intersections. And wouldn't that just put a cap on her day? She already felt like she'd been hit by a figurative truck, so getting herself smushed by a literal one would have provided a nice round ironic balance. Nevertheless, she made it back to the room in one piece and found Sean lounging casually and pretending to be interested in an issue of _Fur, Fish, and Game. _

"Hey."

"Hey," he set the magazine aside and pulled himself into an upright position. "Find what you were looking for?"

Vic's head was full of fuzzy, jumbled thoughts. "Hmm?"

He stood, taking a step toward her and tilting his head to the side. "…at the lingerie shop?"

Brain finally clicking into gear, Vic realized how it might look for her to return empty-handed from her supposed shopping expedition. "Oh! Umm… no. It wasn't really my style. Too many frills. Where the hell is good old _Victoria__'__s Secret _when you need it?" She turned away from him to gaze out the window, afraid that something in her face would betray her if she dared look him in the eye.

"I don't know," she heard him say, voice growing ever closer. "Frills aren't always a bad thing."

She felt one of his hands as it landed at the curve of her hip, the other wrapping around beneath her arm and stroking its way up the side of her ribcage. Vic tensed. She was most definitely not in the right mindset for this, but if it distracted Sean from her thinly-veiled deception, maybe it was for the best…? Doing her best to relax, Vic leaned her back against Sean's chest as he slowly wound her into his embrace.

His breath was at her ear. "I wouldn't mind checking out a few of 'Victoria's secrets' myself." He pressed a kiss to her neck, one hand slipping its way inside of her jacket and—

"What the _hell_ is this?" The nature of his touch changed suddenly, fingers scrambling to extract the carefully hidden object from her inside jacket pocket.

The warmth of Sean's body was swiftly withdrawn, and he held the cellphone aloft as she turned to face him. "I—" She shook her head back and forth, watching his eyes darken and narrow with anger. "I'm sorry, Sean. I had to bring it. With everything that's happening at work—"

He rolled his eyes and made an incredulous noise, throwing the phone down on top of the down comforter in disgust. "Right, I get it. So is that where you _really_ were? Having a nice, leisurely chat with Walt Longmire while your poor dumb fuck husband thought you were out buying sexy underwear?"

Shit, this was bad. She certainly couldn't tell him where she'd _actually_ been, but the lie he seemed to believe was even more damning than the truth. "No, Sean. That isn't— I _wasn__'__t__—" _

"Whatever. I'm going out for a while."

The door slammed behind him and Vic sank down onto the bed, pressing both palms to her forehead in frustrated exasperation. She spotted the cellphone out of the corner of her eye, and her traitorous mind briefly wished that she really _could_ call Walt. If she just heard his voice for a few minutes, maybe it would give her the strength she needed to find her way out of this mess. But she knew she couldn't do that, not now, not like this. What would she even say to him if she did? No, she'd dug herself into this hole and Vic knew it was her responsibility to find her way out.

**xxxxx  
><strong>**xxxxx**

I admit to having a certain soft spot for Gorski, especially as portrayed in 'Population 25.' I wanted him to be a bit funnier here, but he'll get another chance later.

My limited research into the town of Jackson indicates that there is in fact a lingerie shop on King St., so at least Vic didn't make that part up...

Let me know your thoughts on this chapter, and theories for the rest of the story! What will Vic do? Will she have more dreams about Walt? Will Sean calm down? How much cowboy coffee will Ed drink? And off on the distant (but not un-important) horizon, what is going on with Walt anyway?

Reviews will net you a fancy schmancy cocktail of your choice! ;D


	4. Chapter 4

Here's chapter 4, in which we catch up with Walt in the 'real world' and Vic catches up with him in dreamland! Still chugging along at a pretty good pace with this fic, so I hope to have another update ready in a week or less.

Small warning: The second half of this chapter contains mature content. It really does. *smirks mildly*

**Jackson  
><strong>**Part IV**

_**Late Friday afternoon, somewhere outside Durant**_

Ordinarily Walt never would have gone without backup, but desperate times call for desperate measures as they always say.

He would have brought Branch, but Branch was barely in a fit state for office-based investigative work, never mind anything more strenuous than that. He couldn't bring along a partner that might go off half-cocked at any given moment.

He might've considered bringing Ferg, but the younger deputy had been on duty all night 'til noontime and dragging an exhausted officer along for the ride wouldn't have been fair or safe.

He had even contemplated taking Lucian, but unlike their previous excursion together Walt was on the job in fully official capacity and couldn't risk endangering a civilian— no matter how hard the former sheriff would cuff him around the ear if he ever heard Walt refer to him as such.

Henry had always been his preferred companion in a pinch, but he was even less of an option than Lucian with the ankle bracelet and all that he was currently carrying with it.

Walt gripped the steering wheel as he sped along the deserted road, faded blue cotton cuffs peeking out from beneath the sleeves of his jacket. Absently he thought about the most competent and highly trained officer he was leaving out of this equation, and how the fact that Deputy Moretti was away with her husband for a long weekend was suddenly almost a relief.

It saved Walt the trouble of coming up with an excuse not to drag her into this, to keep her safe without having to explain why he needed to. He didn't trust Chance Gilbert as far as he could throw him and he couldn't trust _himself_ not to give away the game and let his enemy see that the easiest way to break Walt would be to hurt Vic.

The tender feelings that had grown in his heart for a woman who was undeniably married were not something that Walt was proud of on the surface of things, but he knew at the core of him that those emotions and deeply buried desires were pure and true and not deserving of an ounce of shame so long as they remained on the inside— his most closely guarded secret.

He couldn't let Chance know, he couldn't let Vic know. And so, he went alone.

Maybe it was reckless, but Walt Longmire wasn't stupid. Ruby was apprised of his whereabouts and so were the Wyoming Highway Patrol, since it was their 'missing' officer (triangulated by GPS) that he was ostensibly searching for. They had a detachment headed out to meet him, but they were a couple hours out and Walt was of the opinion that more guns would only send Chance and his survivalist followers into full-blown siege mode.

As he skidded into the gravel turnoff down the road from Chance's compound, Walt steeled himself for the task ahead and pushed thoughts of Vic and the others out of his mind so he could focus. Standing tall, he checked his weapons and patted the pocket where Ruby's borrowed flip phone was nestled against his chest. Better safe than sorry, since the radio in his truck was anything but portable. Deeming himself as ready as he would ever be, Walt set off down the lonely stretch of road on foot.

Sometimes there was the full force of the law, and sometimes there was just him.

_**x**_

_**Friday Evening**_

Sean had returned an hour and a half later with a calmer demeanor and a pensive expression on his face. Vic had done her best to reiterate to him that she had not snuck off to talk to Walt earlier in the afternoon, and she thought maybe he actually believed her. It seemed irrelevant to wonder where her husband had disappeared to when he said he was going 'out,' but the fact that Gorski was in town had made Vic feel a bit more apprehensive than she normally would have.

And didn't that just speak volumes? What kind of woman wouldn't worry about her husband until there was a possibility he might be accosted by a potentially unstable stalker? Vic was really starting to feel like she needed to re-evaluate her life.

Although neither Vic nor Sean were in a particularly festive mood, this morning he'd booked them a table in the upscale restaurant that was attached to the inn. It seemed pointless to waste the reservations, since they needed to eat in any case. Not to mention, the frosty tension in the room was a bit on the stifling side. So Vic slipped into the simple black dress she'd brought along, Sean donned a shirt and blazer, and they headed off to dinner in the midst of yet another antagonistic silence.

The wine and atmosphere enabled them to loosen up at least to the point of civil small talk, and everything seemed to be going fine right up until they'd finished with their deliciously rustic main courses and moved on to further wine and the dessert menu. Vic was teetering on the oh-so-sweet razor's edge between flourless chocolate cake and the ever enticing tiramisu when, suddenly, everything changed.

"So I've been thinking," Sean began, swirling the cherry-colored remnants of Pinot noir in his glass.

Vic smiled absently as she continued to peruse the tempting offerings. "What? That we should just order both of these and split them? Double our pleasure, double our fun?"

"No," He blinked a few times, pausing in order to catch her gaze. "I've been thinking that you should put in your two weeks' notice."

_What the fuck?_

She dropped the menu, biting the inside of her lip and scrunching her eyebrows. "Excuse me? Would you mind repeating that, because I don't think I heard you correctly."

Averting his gaze for a few moments, Sean fiddled with the edge of his cloth napkin. "I'm serious, Victoria. It's tearing us apart. You care more about…" He seemed to get stuck on the next words. "…this _job_ than you do about our marriage."

"That isn't true."

"Denying it doesn't change it."

Vic's hand clenched into a fist in her lap. "No matter how bad things got, I would _never_ ask you to give up your career, Sean. Never."

He scoffed. "I work for an _energy company_. I'm not exactly emotionally invested in my work. I _would_ quit, if you asked me to."

"And that's what you think I am?_ Emotionally invested? _Why exactly does that have to be a bad thing?"

"It puts you in danger, and it takes you further and further away from me… it's like we live in different worlds."

Vic's heart was fluttering in her chest as she hovered over the next question, knowing that she needed to ask it no matter how it might change the entire tone of the conversation. Maybe they could at least stop talking in riddles if she acknowledged the elephant in the room.

"Is this about Walt?"

As expected, Sean's expression darkened. "I don't know. Is it?"

She took a large gulp of wine and reached over to grab the bottle and refill her glass. It figured that he would turn the question right back on her. How was she even supposed to answer that?

Sure, at first she had hated Wyoming. But despite her protestations to the contrary the work of an Absaroka sheriff's deputy had actually turned out to be quite interesting and engaging. How much of that had to do with the sheriff himself, and was her attachment to her job shaped entirely by the strong feelings that she had developed for Walt? Maybe if she led with the truth, the rest would follow.

"Sean, there's nothing going on between me and Walt."

He looked her straight in the eye, and she could see the skepticism in his dark gaze reflecting across at her. "Maybe. But just because you haven't kissed him or fucked him or messed around doesn't mean there isn't something there."

Opening her mouth to protest, she hesitated as he raised a hand to silence her. The discreet waiter, probably intending on approaching their table to ask for their dessert order, took one look at the tense standoff before him and gracefully turned on his heels.

"You may not be having an affair with Walt, but there's a kinship and a closeness between you that no man would willingly tolerate between his wife and a colleague or her boss."

It was like he had rehearsed these lines in the mirror after brushing his teeth. She wondered how long he had been formulating this conversation, anticipating her responses and planning how to put her at a disadvantage.

"That transfer to Australia is still open, and Newett really wants me to take it. I think it would be good for us."

"What is this bullshit, Sean? Are you giving me an ultimatum?"

He pushed his chair away from the table, briefly pressing the palms of his hands to the tops of his legs before rising. His countenance was stern, but also a little bit sad.

"I want to make a life with you, Victoria. I always have. If this is what it takes to get you to see that, then yeah— I guess I am. Take a few days to think about it. I'm gonna settle the bill and head back to the room. You coming?"

She shook her head slowly, eyes fixed at a point somewhere above Sean's shoulder. "I think I need some time to myself."

Her husband quietly took his leave, and Vic sat stiffly in the chair for a long unmoving moment as the borders of her world crackled and morphed into new and frightening shapes around her. This was what it had finally come down to— and in her heart of hearts Vic knew that the choice Sean was asking her to make was not between their marriage and her job, but between himself and Walt Longmire.

**x**

Two hours later, Vic sank into the bed next to Sean after a full-bodied session of alcohol-assisted soul-searching at the bar. She wasn't drunk, just floating in a blurry and dull-edged red wine trance. She was exhausted, but the thoughts kept whirring through her mind— thoughts of Walt, and the way that Sean's accusations about their 'closeness' echoed back to the things Lizzie Ambrose had said that night at Walt's cabin.

Vic's mind might be overly active but the pillow was soft and her eyes were drifting shut as the vague mass of thoughts, impressions, and accusations converged upon a memory that would gain new life within the depths of her dreams…

_**xxx Vic's Dreamland xxx**_

"…_I thought there was a part of you set aside for me. But there's not, because you're saving it for **her**!" _

The slamming of the screen door heralded Lizzie's departure from the cabin as she huffed away from the unplanned confrontation. It seemed almost unfair, that the other woman could drop such a bombshell and then beat her escape, leaving Walt and Vic to deal with the disquieting aftermath. A heavy silence descended, thick with awkward tension and words unsaid. As she shut the inside door behind her, even from across the room Vic found herself unaccountably focused on a minuscule droplet of water as it slid from the junction of Walt's collarbones down past his sternum, catching and splitting in the hair that dusted his torso.

She was staring, she knew, but she couldn't help it. He was pulling his shirt over those broad shoulders, and she wanted nothing more than to reach out and stop him, expose him, keep him from hiding what was outside and maybe even let her see the inside too.

They made eye contact as Walt's right arm slid into the sleeve of his shirt, still wet and sticking to the weathered cotton as he attempted to cover himself. It was there in his eyes plain as day, the need to run, right alongside the instinct to act like nothing had just happened. Vic didn't think she had ever seen Walt so vulnerable and it scared her right down to the bottom of her guts— which was ironically the same dark and hidden place where she kept her love for him, a powerful and intense emotion that Vic had been so sure was destined to remain unrequited.

He reached behind himself for the doorknob, clearly intending to make a swift retreat. She couldn't let him, she wouldn't. Not this time.

"Walt…?"

Walt paused, stiff and silent, eyes fixed on the floor. Vic approached him with slow steps, not wanting to startle him. He looked up when her bare feet entered his field of vision, turning toward her with his back against the frame of the half-open bedroom door. She tried to think of what she wanted to say. Ultimately she realized that there were no words, no possible combination of syllables in the English language that could convey what she was thinking and feeling in that moment.

Instead of speaking, she stepped even closer, as close as she could get without touching. Heat radiated from his damp skin, water still dripping through his saturated hair and down the sides of his neck. Vic wanted to follow those liquid trails, touch them, taste them. She reached out one hand, tentatively laying it on his chest, half on top of his shirt and half lightly pressing against bare skin.

The pectoral muscle twitched beneath her hand as Walt inhaled sharply, and she could actually feel the reverberation of his low voice beneath her palm.

"What're you doing?"

Absently stroking the edge of his shirt with her thumb, Vic tilted her head to the side and leaned into him. "Finding out if it's true."

She used the hand on Walt's chest to help leverage her weight, lifting her heels off the ground and stretching upward. When her lips brushed against his, barely there, even then she felt a forbidden tingle of electricity shooting down her spine. He didn't resist, didn't move, but she saw his eyelids flutter closed and took that as the sign of permission that it was.

Vic's lips pressed a little more firmly, testing, and it was suddenly a lot more like a kiss when she felt Walt's nose bump against her own as he shifted and began to return the pressure. Her hands wandered of their own accord, sliding beneath his open shirt and molding against his sides. Vic's lips parted with a whimper as Walt's tongue requested entry, slipping into her mouth and deepening the contact.

The embrace escalated quickly, shooting from zero to sixty in no time flat as Walt's arms wrapped around her and the kiss became frantic and heated. Their bodies were pressed tight, and Vic could feel the moisture from Walt's shower-wet skin seeping into the cotton of her pajama top. The wetness allowed her fingers to slide so easily over the planes and ridges of his exposed upper body, feeling the outline of his ribs and traveling upward to push the damp shirt away from his shoulders.

When they finally reached the threshold for lack of oxygen, breaking the kiss and gulping in lungfuls of air, the look in Walt's eyes burned right through her. It was a reflection of all her own hidden thoughts and desires, filtered through a mesmerizing blue that seemed to grow steadily darker as he watched her. In this trancelike state Vic hardly noticed that Walt had reversed their positions, crowding her against the wall between the bedroom door and the fireplace.

His shirt had fallen to the floor, and he stood before her in nothing but that abnormally intriguing plain white bath towel. One of his arms slid around her waist, and he used the other to steady himself against the wall beside her head. There was a flicker of hesitation as Walt leaned in to kiss her again, but it seemed to dissipate as Vic wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him against her. Walt's hand left the wall and slid over the side of her face, caressing her neck and moving low enough for the side of his thumb to trace over her exposed collarbone.

Their lips drifted apart and Vic enacted her earlier fantasy, sliding her lips across Walt's stubbled cheek and allowing them to proceed to the side of his neck to catch the droplets of water there. She let her tongue peek out to taste the salt of his skin, mouth gliding down the strong line of his throat, and Walt's reaction was to emit a short ragged groan and slip both of his large hands under the hem of her loose-fitting sleep t-shirt.

The sensation of Walt's hands on her bare skin at long last was almost too much. Vic gasped against his lips, which were brushing over hers once again. His eyes were open, focused intently on hers, and the back of her head hit the wall with a small thump under the combined force of all these overwhelming sensations. His hands traveled upward inside of her top, one winding around to the small of her back while the other stroked slowly up her side.

"We should stop."

Contradicting himself, he kissed her again. It was long, slow, the heat from his body enveloping her as his hands continued to roam.

"Tell me to stop."

Walt's voice was like honey over gravel, and Vic didn't think she'd be able to tell him to stop even if she'd wanted to. Which she didn't. She really, _really_ didn't. She shook her head, arching into his touch.

"I can't. Walt, please—"

Hands shaking just slightly, Walt gripped the bottom of her shirt and pulled upward. Vic obediently raised her arms, biting her lip from a heady mixture of lust and apprehension as he peeled the shirt off and dropped it on top of his own. He allowed his gaze to float across her exposed breasts for a few long seconds, reaching out to sweep the trailing end of her loose braid away from her bare shoulder. His fingers lingered, stroking her upper arm, seemingly indecisive.

"Touch me," she whispered against the corner of his mouth.

His palm slid down, molding gently. He brushed his thumb fleetingly across her nipple as his hand continued on its ultimate mission to gather her against him. Pulling Vic away from the wall, Walt guided her backwards into the as yet unvisited sanctum of his bedroom. She swallowed heavily, feeling like her heart had actually jumped up into her throat. This was really happening.

They stood toe to toe next to the neatly made bed for a long moment and simply looked at each other. Vic felt a bit weird standing there topless in the baggy sweat pants she would normally never sleep in but had brought along for modesty's sake. Modesty seemed like a pretty funny idea at this point, especially considering how low that towel was slung around Walt's hips and the oh-so-noticeable bulge that it was barely concealing. Just thinking about it flooded her with a pulsing, tingling warmth and a renewed sense of urgency.

Blinking at him slowly, Vic moved her hands to the waistband of her pants and hooked her thumbs beneath the soft knit fabric. Walt's hands shot out to cover hers, stilling her movements as his face loomed so close to hers.

The corner of his mouth quirked into a brief smile. "That's my job."

She smiled back, allowing him to take over and push the sweats down over her hips along with her cotton bikini underwear. Incredibly turned on and unwilling to be a passive bystander in the action, Vic moved to grip Walt's towel at either side of his hips.

"Then let me do mine." She tugged at the terrycloth fabric in a simultaneous bid to pull him closer and expose the remainder of what was hidden.

Walt pressed his face to Vic's as their naked bodies joined together from head almost all the way to toe, breathing against her cheek and running one hand down over the curve of her ass. She squirmed toward him, wanting to feel the hard evidence of his desire and match it to her own.

After a few moments, they both seemed to realize there was no reason to be upright any longer. Falling on top of the covers, they began a very pleasant session of erotic grappling, bodies twisting and entwining, lips connecting and exploring in turn as the long-bottled passion flared between them. Vic released a moan as she rolled on top of Walt and his hands slid into her hair to guide her face back to his for a deep kiss.

When their lips broke apart, he pierced her with an intense gaze. "Vic."

Vic reached a hand up, fingers stroking over the familiar outline of his face and ghosting over his parted lips. He was telling her so much with his eyes, everything that she knew neither of them was ready to say with words. "I know…"

Abruptly and effortlessly he flipped her onto her back, pinning her beneath him with her left arm above her head. Her eyes rolled skyward in intense anticipatory pleasure as she felt him nudging and teasing at her entrance, hot and so incredibly hard. She moved her hips, trying to draw him in, but his strong limbs were holding her in a deadlock as his fingers stroked up her arm.

His actions made sense all of a sudden as she felt a tugging sensation along her ring finger, and- oh _fuck-_ he was removing her wedding ring and depositing it on the bedside table. Walt's expression was tender but fierce; Vic knew he was staking a claim, and she was ready to be taken.

Inch by inch he sank into her, until she whimpered at the feeling of him buried to the hilt. She wriggled her hips, an action Walt answered with a downward grind of his own. Vic made a choked noise of pleasure, cradling him with all her limbs as he tried out a few experimental thrusts. They fit like they'd been _made _to do this together, and Vic couldn't help but vocalize her approval.

"You feel _so_ good. Oh—"

Walt buried his face in her neck as he picked up the pace, stroking in and out, sometimes circling slowly or breaking the rhythm to drive deeper. Vic dragged one hand up the long expanse of Walt's back to grip into his hair, riding up into him as the sensual pressure built to a fever pitch. He whispered her name again, growling against her ear and changing the angle just slightly so that everything slid and rubbed in a way that made her—

"Oh my _God, _Walt!_" _

She gasped violently as her climax rolled out from her core, building and expanding as Walt shoved one arm beneath her body to clasp her tight against him and weather the storm that they had created. He was there too, she could feel it, and her hands weren't sure whether they wanted to gently soothe him or claw at his skin until she could crawl inside.

Eventually returning to awareness Vic realized they were in a crumpled, sweaty heap on top of the covers, and Walt had twisted his torso to the side to avoid crushing her beneath him as he collapsed on top of her. Their legs were tangled, hands resting wherever they had last grasped and stroked. Vic smiled, first at the ceiling and then at Walt as she turned her face toward his. He was watching her, and she reached out to push a damp strand of hair away from his forehead.

Walt smiled too, as serene and as damn sexy as she could ever remember seeing him. Snuggling further into his arms, Vic made a small noise of satisfaction, and mumbled his name again as she drifted off into an exhausted and sated slumber.

**xxxxx  
><strong>**xxxxx**

Ooooh, wow. I hope Vic hasn't been talking in her sleep this time (easy to guess hint for the next chapter: she probably has). ;D

This is getting pretty messy, but I have a feeling Vic and Walt will soon be reunited in actuality, not just in Vic's dreams. Would love to know your theories on how it might happen! I really enjoy hearing everybody's thoughts about the characters and the story.

As a side note, I hope nobody was under the impression that this fic was meant to be anything other than Walt/Vic. I'm a slave to this pairing, okay? I won't be writing any Vic/Sean or Vic/Ed Gorski fics anytime soon. Or Sean/Ed Gorski fics, for that matter. Ewww on that particular slash idea. LOL!


	5. Chapter 5

Heya! Here's chapter five of this fic, once again earlier than anticipated. After the events of the previous chapter, the situation between Vic and Sean has reached a tipping point. We'll also be spending quite a bit of time with Walt here, and it looks like Vic isn't the only one having interesting dreams. As usual, more notes at the bottom. :D

**Jackson  
><strong>**Part V**

_**Before dawn Saturday morning, Chance's compound**_

He'd known the man was a bit on the crazy side, but Walt had never anticipated this. Going in alone had clearly provided exactly the sort of outcome Chance had hoped for. Now he found himself tied to a chair, blood dripping down the side of his face as Chance opened the proceedings in the trial against Walt— who was apparently charged with just about every crime ever perpetrated against anyone in the universe.

Chance Gilbert's level of unhinged desperation had ramped up a fair few notches since Walt had seen the man successfully defend himself against a murder charge, and the scary part was that his disciples seemed to follow him even more blindly because of it. From what Walt could tell their general practice when 'entertaining a guest' was to feed them bologna sandwiches and then hit them with a baseball bat, but apparently Walt warranted special treatment.

Since Walt had been responsible for the death of Chance's younger brother, the man had deemed it appropriate to introduce Walt to the dead man's favorite hunting knife. Most of the cuts Chance had made on Walt's neck and chest were superficial, but the small nick just above his eyebrow was bleeding impressively and impairing his vision. Walt was pretty sure he had a couple broken fingers on his right hand, too, on account of having them rather perfunctorily smashed with a hammer.

He was probably lucky in the end, that Chance had wanted Walt to have his wits about him while his personal brand of due process was applied. He was certainly luckier than the dead highway patrolman and the frozen census agent he'd found in the basement before he was captured by Chance's henchmen.

The trial was not proceeding in Walt's favor, and he knew that a messier fate would be awaiting him once judgement was passed. He had lost track of time, only knowing that it had been dark for enough hours that the sun would probably start to rise soon. If the Highway Patrol or the FBI or anybody else gave enough of a damn to come and rescue him, they would likely wait until after dawn. Walt wasn't sure they would make it in time.

Chance was speaking to the heavily armed contingent that had assembled, referring to Walt by his full name and cataloging his offenses and his status as the representative of a corrupt and illegitimate government. Walt half-listened, glancing over at the door and wall covered with newspaper clippings and surveillance photos of himself and all his deputies. It was like a reminder, a warning, and a wanted poster all in one.

There was a large picture of Vic with a thick black circle drawn around her head, and the idea of Chance or his followers targeting Vic or putting her through anything like what he'd experienced today made Walt's blood run cold. No, Walt couldn't let that happen. Not to Vic, not to any of the others. He still wasn't sure whether Chance was the one responsible for Martha's murder, but he intended to find out. He needed to be strong for Vic _and_ for Martha, he wouldn't let himself fail them both.

Even if he had to make the ultimate sacrifice, even if it meant he could never see Vic again or tell her how he felt, this had to end today.

Sneering as he finished his diatribe, Chance stood before Walt, brandishing the hammer he was using as a gavel. It was clear that he viewed himself as judge, jury, and probably executioner. "You got anything you wanna say? The law dictates that you get a chance to defend yourself."

"Yep," Walt steeled himself, hoping against hope that he could get this gamble to work. "I wanna settle out of court."

The ringleader in this farce of a trial scoffed, smiling meanly. "And why would I want to allow such a thing?"

"Because it's my right. _Law is often but the tyrant's will, and always so when it violates the rights of the individual_. That's what Thomas Jefferson said."

"_Rightful liberty is unobstructed action according to our will within limits drawn around us by the equal rights of others_." Chance pierced him with a long look. "What are you proposing?"

Walt sat as straight as he possibly could within his bonds. "That we settle this between us, man to man, with no outside influences. I'll stand for my crimes, and you can stand for yours."

"What, are you challenging me to a duel?" He chuckled.

"If that's how you wanna look at it."

Chance placed the hammer back down on the rough wooden table, shrugging with his palms up in the air. "Pistols at dawn with Walter Longmire, a bonafide American cowboy? How can I refuse! Untie him."

Feeling a slightly nauseous mixture of dread and relief as he was released from the tightly-tied ropes, Walt tried not to cringe as he flexed his fingers and realized there was no possible way he'd be able to hold a gun with his right hand. He was pretty decent with his left, but it was a long time since he'd needed to shoot that way when it really had to count.

Stretching his stiff legs and wiping the semi-congealed blood away from his eye with the edge of his sleeve, Walt followed Chance out the door of the compound. He allowed his glance to linger on Vic's black and white face as he passed the photos on the wall, wishing he could see the flecks of color in her eyes and praying that the gods of ambidexterity would be with him today…

_**x**_

_**Saturday Morning**_

She rose from the haze of sleep, temples pulsing with the weight of too much wine and way too many vivid imaginings. Raising a hand to push some loose strands of hair away from the side of her face Vic noticed that she was still in her dress from last night, and she was alone in the bed. The digital clock on the side table indicated that it was still early, just before 7 o'clock. She could smell coffee. A cursory glance at her surroundings revealed that Sean was standing out on the balcony, cutting a solitary figure as he stared out at the mountainous and grey early morning horizon.

Slipping into her jacket, Vic could feel the weight of her cellphone where she'd placed it back into the inside pocket before heading down to dinner the previous evening without it. She'd thought it was the least she could do, to show willing and give her relationship with her husband the undivided attention it deserved. Now on the other side of Sean's stark ultimatum and her ever intensifying fantasies and longings for Walt, she wasn't sure _what_ to think or even if putting forth the effort to save her marriage was the right thing to do.

The coffee was still hot in the pot so she grabbed a cup and somewhat reluctantly joined Sean outside. He didn't turn to acknowledge her, so she perched in one of the wooden chairs and cradled the warm mug between both hands.

"It's early, what are you doing up?"

Sean inclined his head at her question, briefly straining to regard her out of the corner of his eye. "Been awake for hours. You were out like a light." Shoulders tense and one hand gripping the wooden railing in front of him, he continued. "Did you know… that you talk in your sleep when you've had too much to drink?"

Even without assistance from the ice in his voice, Vic could only come to one conclusion about what Sean must have heard. The dream of Walt had been so vivid, so physical and raw. Still, what was she supposed to say? "I, umm." She cleared her throat, fiddling with the handle of her coffee mug. "I don't know what you—"

He finally turned around, crossing his arms and leaning against the railing. "Yeah, you _do_ know. Why bother pretending anymore? I think all the cards are on the table at this point, don't you?"

They looked at each other for what had to be at least thirty full unhappy seconds. Vic wondered if all couples had a moment like this, where they both knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was over. She lowered her eyes, staring into the dark liquid in her cup and traitorously wishing that she was back at the station with her Flyers mug and her hockey puck and Walt.

Sean shook his head from side to side, disdainful. "So I've been awake, Victoria, wondering what I'm supposed to do about the fact that my last ditch attempt to save our marriage has ended with my wife having steamy hot fuck dreams about her boss."

"They're just dreams, Sean. They don't mean anything." Even as she said the words, Vic knew they weren't true. _They mean something, alright. They mean __**everything**__._

"Well they certainly mean it's not me you're thinking about when you go to sleep at night. Isn't that enough?"

Vic opened her mouth to answer, brought up short by the startling sensation of the phone vibrating in her jacket pocket. Who would be calling her this early in the morning? She reached into her pocket without thought, a bucket of ice water crashing into her stomach as the number from the station displayed on the screen.

"Don't you dare answer that." Sean glared at her incredulously.

Returning the eye contact defiantly, Vic's jaw set in determination. "I have to."

He turned away, shoulders slouched in angry defeat as she touched the green button on the screen.

"Moretti," she answered, in a tone that she hoped wasn't overcompensating in its cheerfulness. The voice on the other end of the line certainly didn't possess that chipper edge— it was Ruby, and Vic couldn't remember ever hearing her sound so grave.

"_Vic, you'd better get back here as soon as you can. Something's happened to Walt." _

**x**

She was showered, dressed, and packed within 15 minutes. So frantic had she been in her preparations that Vic hadn't even noticed until she was ready to head out the door that Sean did not seem to share her sense of urgency.

"Sean, what are you doing? We've got to hurry!"

Sean stood next to the bed, features set in an uncooperative pout. "I'm not going anywhere."

The panic was beginning to mount. Ruby hadn't been able to give her much in the way of details; only that Walt had been injured in some sort of standoff involving backwoods survivalists and the FBI, and that they were taking him to Durant Memorial.

"_You know what Walter is like," _Ruby's words had been reassuring, but laced with worry that she couldn't quite hide. _"He's probably fine, and he'd be furious to know I ruined your weekend. But I figured— well, I thought you would want to be here."_

Sometimes that woman was too smart for her own good.

"Fine, you stay here then. Give me the car keys."

Sean laughed. He actually _laughed._ "No way! My name is on the rental agreement and you're not authorized as a driver. In the state you're in you'd probably end up wrecking the car."

"Are you really gonna do this?" The emotions— fury combined with fear, anxiety, sadness, and guilt— crept up through Vic's throat and filtered into her eyes in the form of hot tears.

"Are _you?_ Because the way I see it, there's no going back if you walk out that door."

"I don't believe you. He could be _dying_ out there, Sean. I can't just—"

"Okay," Sean shrugged, trying to look unaffected as moisture filled his eyes, too. "If losing him is more important to you than losing me, then I guess your choice is made."

Tears streamed down Vic's face as she slowly removed her wedding ring and set it on the bedside table. "Yeah, I guess it is."

She lifted her duffel and walked out of the room without a second glance, never pausing until she reached the lobby. Staring into the flames that were crackling in the fireplace even at this early hour, Vic pulled the cellphone out of her pocket. Cringing as she navigated to her received messages, she made one of the most difficult phone calls of her life.

Twenty minutes later she was standing outside when a car pulled up— a gray sedan with Pennsylvania license plates. The window rolled down, and the driver leaned out.

"Jesus, Moretti. Who died?"

Vic scowled, hurrying around to open the passenger side door. "Shut your damn mouth, Ed."

**x**

_**Saturday afternoon, Durant Memorial Hospital**_

Things were a bit hazy, but at the very least Walt knew he was alive… and after the morning he'd had, that was saying something.

The 'duel' with Chance hadn't actually taken place in the end. The two of them had been standing ready, and Walt had questioned the other man about his involvement in Martha's murder. Chance claimed no culpability, and Walt believed him. What reason did he have to lie? If things had gone to plan, one of them would have been dead in moments and Chance almost certainly figured that it wasn't going to be him. The motive was there but the pieces hadn't quite fit, and Walt had known right then that his quest for justice wouldn't— couldn't— end here.

As it was, the FBI had come charging over the hill with guns blazing before the showdown had reached its inevitable conclusion. Chance Gilbert was mowed down in a hail of bullets before Walt could even get a shot off, and he himself was unlucky enough to get caught in the crossfire as Chance's contingent returned fire on the encroaching federal agents. Walt took one bullet to the shoulder and another nicked the outside of his arm before he was able to duck and cover, watching from behind a rusty barrel as the standoff morphed into a complete bloodbath.

It had been just the thing Walt had wanted to avoid, but he'd failed to diffuse the situation and at least a dozen people had paid with their lives. He looked himself over, noticing splints on the first two fingers of his right hand and some dressings covering the areas where he was shot. The cuts from the younger Gilbert brother's hunting knife were bandaged as well— Walt reached his hand up to confirm that this included the gash above his eyebrow. Worst of all, he was wearing… a hospital gown. Faded with ugly polka dots— he must be at Durant Memorial.

Shifting in the gently inclined bed, Walt was aware of the dull ache in his left shoulder and realized he'd been more than just a little lucky to leave Chance's compound alive. A couple inches down and to the right and the bullet could have pierced his heart. Casting his gaze a bit wider, he saw evidence that he'd already had visitors to his room. His hat was sitting on a nearby side table, brim up as it should.

Next to the hat was a book he'd given to Henry as a joke when the other man had landed in the hospital with a broken leg several years ago. It was John Knowles' _A Separate Peace_, a famously depressing tale involving two friends and repeated leg-breakings. Trust Henry to make his presence known even while the ankle bracelet kept him from being there in person. A sweater that Walt recognized as Cady's was slung over the back of a nearby chair, indicating that she had likely stepped out. Probably for the best; Walt could tell he had been pumped full of antibiotics and painkillers and wasn't likely to be very good company for quite a few hours to come.

He thought about Vic, and the time she'd been the one laying in this very hospital in an ugly polka-dotted gown of her own after being shot with enough tranquilizers to subdue a bear. She'd said some things to him that day, things he tried to push out of his mind for a long time but still ended up thinking about sometimes late at night. "_You__'__re different because you__'__re a man, Walt_**.**" What had she really meant by that?

The truth tended to slip out when people were impaired, as his deputy had been. But what _was_ their truth? Right now the reality was that Vic had gone on a romantic weekend with a man she was married to, and Walt was here alone in a hospital room. Even as his eyelids drifted shut, however, Walt knew that what was between them could never be quantified as simply as that…

_**xxx Walt's Dreamland xxx**_

"_What happened? And don't give me any of that monosyllabic Gary Cooper crap. Talk. To. Me."_

He watches Vic's face change as he finally tells her about his wife's murder, and what he sees is exactly what he had wanted to avoid. The pity, yes, but even more the pain— pain that had infected every corner of his life and that he'd so desperately wanted to spare her. Walt had made a habit out of pushing Vic away, keeping her at arm's length when what he really wanted was to pull her closer and never let go. All this time he'd thought it was for her, but now he sees her eyes glisten and her lower lip tremble and he suddenly knows that he had been protecting himself as well.

Of course she followed him into the reading room. Nowhere in her job description as his deputy did it say that she was required to make his life _easy_.

There was a palpable tension in the air as Walt whipped his arms out of the blood-spattered denim shirt, displaying the scars on his naked back without a second thought. Vic had wanted him to let her in, pushed the boundaries of their trust and intimacy. If she wanted to know it all, maybe she needed to see. Walt didn't have the time or the inclination to hide from her anymore, and maybe— just maybe— part of him needed to show her, too.

Vic's voice was measured and calm, but there was an edge of underlying trepidation that she couldn't quite mask. "Is Branch okay?"

Scrubbing the blood from his hands, he let his clipped answers flow out on auto-pilot. "I hope so. He got shot. They're working on him now, but he lost a lot of blood."

Walt glanced into the mirror and could see Vic behind him, watching. Biting her lip under the weight of the ensuing silence, she surprised him by moving closer. His instincts still told him to keep moving, not to think about any of it, to run and keep chasing the truth until his legs wouldn't take him any further. And yet his defenses were nearly broken down with one touch of her small, cool hand on his back.

"What about you?"

Her fingers traced the outline of one long, jagged scar. He fought to school his reactions to the innocently compelling contact.

"What _about_ me?"

She leaned closer still, and he could feel the warmth of her breath on the skin of his shoulder as her palm flattened against the curve of his spine. The already compact space felt like it was getting smaller by the moment, time slowing like molasses and all Walt's carefully set boundaries blurring into a fog.

"Walt—"

Urging himself into action, he pulled away and unfolded the factory-creased uniform shirt with jerky movements. "There's no time to think about that. I've gotta find out who shot Branch."

He shrugged into the shirt, tugging it over his shoulders and attempting to line up the buttons with undue haste. Frustration made Walt clumsy, fingers fumbling ineffectively with the fastenings of the shirt. His deputy was apparently unwilling to accept the attempt at dismissal. Vic stepped in, placing her hands over his to still them. Peeking up at him through eyes lidded with fine lashes, she pulled the sides of his shirtfront together. Starting at the bottom, she slotted the buttons through each hole with slightly shaking hands.

If Vic's fingers had been completely steady in their work, maybe Walt could have ignored it. Without that barely-there tremble that she was struggling to control, he could have let her finish the job and carried on with his mission uninterrupted. But Vic was trying so hard to give him her strength and God help him, he wanted to take it.

The top three buttons of Walt's shirt were still undone as he backed Vic toward the side of the room, pressing her against the waist-high cabinet between the sink and the wall of shelves. His hand slid up to grasp the back of her neck as he propelled her body backwards and pulled her face toward his in one smooth movement. Then they were kissing, and it was fluid and heated and so totally natural that Walt felt like he'd been dropped into the middle of a kiss that had been going on for _weeks_.

Vic made a small noise in the back of her throat, slipping one of her hands beneath the open collar of his shirt and stroking her tongue provocatively against his own. One of Walt's arms was around her waist, while the thumb of his other hand traced over the corner of her mouth at the point where it was molded against his own. Their eyes met for a matter of seconds when their lips broke apart for air. Then all her fingers were in his hair and she was pulling him back down, and if this was what drowning felt like Walt was content to be carried away in the undertow.

The flat top of the cabinet was cluttered with cleaning supplies and miscellaneous junk, but Vic still managed to scoot herself into a precariously seated position on the edge. Her jean-clad thighs urged Walt forward as he insinuated himself between her legs and pressed in for more direct and urgent contact. He leaned into her with the flats of his hands pressed against the wooden surface on either side of her hips. His mouth found the soft skin just behind her earlobe, exploring gently. Her arms had wrapped around his back, grasping at the slightly stiff fabric of his shirt before settling around his waist.

No words passed between them during the heated exchange, just a breathless "Oh," from Vic as Walt's hips ground into hers. It was a jolt of pure sensual electricity even through two layers of denim, and the dangerously arousing sensation coupled with the noise she made were just enough to shock Walt back from the edge and make him realize that he really shouldn't be rubbing off against his married deputy in a public place with their work colleagues just on the other side of the frosted glass door.

Gradually he reined his impulses in, stroking the bridge of his nose against the side of her face and taking several long breaths. They calmed into a tender embrace, Vic's lips placing one fleeting kiss at Walt's temple as he leaned over her shoulder to finish collecting himself. Standing up straight and putting a couple steps of distance between them, he gazed at Vic slowly as her booted feet returned to the floor. Directing his attention to the remaining undone buttons on his shirt, Walt cleared his throat.

"Sorry."

Vic's response was almost defiant in tone, but her eyes revealed a contradictory softness. "Don't be."

"Okay."

What else was there to say? He hadn't expected this to happen and it was by no means the right time for them— for all he knew it might _never_ be. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to regret it. Walt had a lot of work to do; he needed to find out who shot Branch, who killed Miller Beck, and what had really happened on the night of Martha's murder. And now his thoughts were suddenly unclouded, clear with purpose, as though the unanticipated gust of passionate feeling had whisked the clouds of rage and doubt away.

They gave themselves the once over to make sure there was no visible evidence of their brief but torrid exchange, and after one last prolonged look Vic opened the door to release them from the confines of the reading room. Walt grabbed his hat and coat from the rack, only just aware of Ferg and Ruby looking on from the periphery of his vision. Pausing on his way out the door, his brain tripped onto a fact that was at once a realization and a decision of sorts. He turned back to Vic.

"I'm gonna need a ride."

Vic grabbed her duty jacket and followed him without a trace of hesitation.

**x**

Back at the hospital twilight was creeping in through the window and Walt Longmire was tossing fitfully in his sleep, neck twisting from side to side. In the chair beside the bed it was a blonde— not a redhead— who currently kept vigil over the injured sheriff. Walt frowned, eyebrows scrunching in unconscious distress as he mumbled one short, hushed word into the silence.

"Vic…?"

The exhausted deputy reached out to grasp Walt's uninjured hand with both of her smaller ones, eyes never leaving his face.

"I'm here, Walt."

**xxxxx  
><strong>**xxxxx**

Well look at that! Only 16,000 words and I finally managed to get Walt and Vic into the same room. ;D

In the next chapter, we'll gain some insight into Vic's journey back to Durant with Ed, and Walt will wake up to find his surprise visitor. Will an over-caffeinated Ed push Vic to the edge of homicide? Will Vic tell Walt what happened in Jackson? And most importantly, will Walt _really_ be furious with Ruby for busting up Vic and Sean's oh-so-romantic weekend? Let me know your thoughts, I really enjoy hearing them!


	6. Chapter 6

Add me to the contingent of those who used their extra hour of sleep to get some writing time in! Here's the next chapter, as a result.

Quickly, I'd like to say a big thanks to everyone for the many reviews, replies, PMs, and other interactions over the past couple months. There seems to be a great community of writers and readers here in _Longmire_ fandom, and I'm really glad I've been able to join in!

**Jackson  
><strong>**Part VI**

_**Early Saturday Afternoon, on the road between Jackson and Durant**_

"So let me get this straight," Ed quipped, steering with one hand as they cruised down the nearly deserted highway.

Vic rolled her eyes, tired and really not in the mood to hear Gorski's gleeful summation of the wave of misfortune that had crashed into her life. There had been a long, _long_ stretch of silence before either of them had spoken on the five hour journey. It was still a toss up as to whether Vic wished she had never opened her mouth even for the bare bones account of events that she had given.

Ed, for his part, seemed to take her reticence as an invitation to continue. "You split up with your husband on the same day that your—" He snorted in amusement. "—_boyfriend_ gets shot by some bunch of backwoods nut jobs? Wow, that is _quite_ an unfortunate coincidence."

Frowning, Vic wedged her elbow against the frame of the passenger side window and leaned her head into her hand. She didn't have the energy to correct Ed about Walt not being her 'boyfriend' again. Besides, such denials would be too painful under the circumstances. The early-afternoon light had a strangely rosy quality to it from behind Vic's sunglasses, which was a lot more than she could say for her mental outlook at the moment.

"Actually, it's not much of a coincidence." She wasn't sure why she was giving Ed the satisfaction of a reply. Maybe she needed to release just a small slice of the truth out into the air, to alleviate the anxious pressure she was feeling in her chest. "I split up with Sean because he refused to drive me back to Durant when I found out Walt was…" She didn't want to put words to what Walt was, or could be. "…in trouble."

"Seems like sort of an asshole move."

"Yeah, well, he also wanted me to quit my job and move to Australia."

"Shit." He looked over at her briefly, out of the corner of his eye. "Man, he must _really_ dislike that sheriff of yours."

That much was true, but she wasn't about to tell Ed that. "Having you hanging around town wasn't exactly helping things, either."

Choosing to ignore her comment about him, Ed cocked his head thoughtfully. "Can't blame him, really. I mean, I _definitely_ thought you two were banging. Walt is much more your… type."

"What makes you think you know what my _type_ is?"

"Oh, come on. I think I'm qualified to comment." He smirked, but to his credit it was a small one.

She shook her head and muttered, "Whatever."

Sunbeams filtered through the tightly packed trees as they whizzed by outside the window, and Vic realized she was almost hoping that Ed would fill the silence to stop her from thinking about what they might be driving towards. After a few moments, he obliged.

"I'm just saying, I can see why Sean would have felt threatened. I mean, Walt Longmire is a pretty threatening guy. You saw what he did to _me.__" _

Vic sighed. "You _know_ Walt didn't do that to you, Ed."

The hand that gripped the steering wheel flexed and tightened. "You mean I should be sending my dental bills to someone _else_?"

Yet another eye roll from Vic.

"Just kidding. God, you used to be able to take a joke."

She shrugged a bit. "I used to be a lot of things."

Ed's expression darkened. "So did I. So did a lot of people."

As they passed by the curve where Vic and Sean had nearly hit a bear scarcely forty-eight hours ago, the road twisted dangerously and the trees cast forbidding shadows over the pavement. Vic fidgeted a bit, wringing her hands and trying to quell the nauseous feeling in her stomach. Ed scared her out of her unhappy contemplations with an unexpected question.

"Why did you call me, anyway?" The tone was thoughtful, with a dash of resentment and perhaps a small amount of indignation served on the side.

"What do you mean? I needed to get back to Durant somehow."

"So why not rent your own car, hitchhike, or shell out the money for a taxi? I'm a crazy _stalker_, remember? I could be planning to drag you off into the wilderness and chop you into itty bitty pieces." He sounded almost disappointed that this was not in fact the task he was currently performing.

Vic thought for a moment. She supposed it was a comfort thing, a fear of being alone, the longing for something familiar in the altered landscape of her universe. Ed hadn't always been like this, not that he had been perfect, but she'd been drawn to him for a reason. Maybe some things shouldn't be forgotten.

"It was that conversation that we had in Jackson the other day," she began. God, had that only been _yesterday_? It felt like weeks ago.

Ed looked a bit confused, probably remembering the parts of their talk where he was being a jerk and trying to get her riled up.

"You remembered— about strawberries, that I was allergic." Looking down at her hands, she continued. "It made me realize that no matter how badly we might have screwed up each other's lives in the past few years, there was a time where we cared about each other. I think if you really wanted to hurt me you would have done it already."

A humorless laugh. "Hurt you? Like I said the other day— you're doing a much better job of hurting yourself than I could ever hope for. I'm just here for the show."

He scowled, clenching the hand that wasn't on the steering wheel into a tight fist. "I'm powerless, Vic. I can't even change my own life, and it's never mattered what or who I care about. I've got no control over anything anymore, I've resigned myself to that. I couldn't even get to _you_— you've _always_ been stronger than me."

For a moment Vic wished she could turn back the hands of time, bring back the Ed she had known before the corruption scandal, before Bobby's suicide, before their brief affair had turned into something depraved and twisted. Detective Gorski had been good at his job, and while he may not have been squeaky clean his transgressions were nothing compared to what his partner had fallen into. Back then Ed was fierce and funny, with a good-sized dose of swagger and an infectious smile.

When she looked at him now, sullen, blue eyes dulled to an unfriendly gunmetal, she felt an unforeseen sense of remorse. As much as Ed had done, both to her and to himself, she knew her actions had factored into his disintegration. Even if all the choices Vic had made were technically the 'right' ones, maybe Ed was right too— maybe it didn't excuse her from the need to understand the repercussions. She was certainly feeling the consequences of her actions now.

As they rounded the next bend in the road the lump in Vic's throat suddenly grew large enough to close off the passage of air for several choked, unbearable seconds. Just ahead of them, casually parked at a generic gravel-strewn pull-off, was a vehicle that Vic would recognize anywhere.

"Stop the car, Ed. _Stop here!__" _

He pulled to the side of the lane, just short of even with Walt's abandoned Bronco. Vic stared across the road at the familiar truck, tears now streaming freely down her cheeks. She spared a glance at Ed, who somehow managed to combine pity and triumph into one unique expression. Wordlessly he reached into the back seat and produced her duffel, holding it toward her until she grasped the nylon straps with one shaking hand.

After a few deep breaths to steady herself, Vic reached for the handle and opened the passenger side door. Hefting the duffel, she swung her legs outward, feet feeling the confusion of gravity as they connected with the asphalt. Hand grasping the metal of the doorframe, she began to pull herself out of the car.

Two gruff, plaintive words drifted over from the driver's seat, causing her to freeze for a moment.

"Goodbye, Vic."

A beam of light caught Ed's face and she could suddenly see the deeper flecks of ultramarine glinting in his eyes, features a strained picture of determination and sorrow. They shared one long last look and Vic nodded almost imperceptibly, levering herself out onto the shoulder and swinging the door shut. Ed drove off without hesitation, taillights glowing red as the car rounded the next bend in the winding road. Vic knew, somehow, that she would probably never see Ed Gorski again.

Now here she was, making her way across the double yellow lines and wondering why nobody had picked up Walt's vehicle. Probably too busy cleaning up the FBI's mess. _Or rushing to the hospital like I should be,_ she reminded herself. Reaching the driver's side door, Vic leaned against the cool metal for a moment, overwhelmed. The silence here was deafening, and such a powerful reminder of Walt was like a kick in the guts and a hot, stinging revelation rolled into one.

Climbing into the driver's seat and retrieving the keys from their usual place of concealment behind the sun visor, Vic was painfully aware of two things— she was head over heels in love with Walt Longmire, and she might never get the chance to tell him.

**x**

_**Late Saturday night, Durant Memorial Hospital**_

He's in that fuzzy state between dreams and reality, and even through the dulling effects of the medication Walt can still manage to resent the unclearness of his own perceptions. As a natural authority figure, he doesn't relish the concept of being impaired. It makes him feel like he has lost control, and the helplessness is only amplified by the ungovernable wanderings of his mind.

Dreams of Vic were not something new to him. His subconscious had dredged up many scenarios far less innocent than what his drug-induced sleep had just offered. Then again, Walt had experienced dreams of her that were _more_ innocent, too. Wordless imaginings of sunlight glinting through her hair, mundane scenarios where she linked her arm through his and laughed at his stupid jokes, or inexplicable visions of a springtime breeze fluttering at the skirt of the indigo dress she had worn to his election party.

That last one in particular had a tendency to lead straight back to the more indecent channels, considering the nature of his activities with another woman on that fated night before the election. Even then he'd known deep down that Lizzie wasn't who he wanted, and the buried recesses of Walt's mind had made a point of reminding him ever since. Guilt and longing were more or less par for the course on those occasions when he woke up tangled in the covers after dreaming that his deputy had been the one he took to bed instead of the willing and persistent Ms. Ambrose. Ironically, such dreams rarely involved much in the way of sleep.

Those blurred lines between real and unreal, often enhanced by exhaustion and stress over the past few years, played havoc with Walt once again as he climbed a bit higher on the ladder of awareness. As he willed his eyelids to open, he briefly wondered if he had stumbled into yet another dream.

The room was dimly lit, wrapped in the tenuous and uptight silence that only a hospital could achieve in the dead of night. Walt looked at his hands first, since they were in his immediate line of sight. The right was still neatly bandaged, laying on top of the thin white blanket. His left hand was a different story; Walt felt a subtle warmth and pressure surrounding it, blinking several times as he noticed two smaller hands clinging onto his own. Following the line of the arms attached to those hands, his eyes eventually reached a tousled blonde head which had slumped onto the inclined portion of the bed next to his shoulder in apparent exhaustion.

Walt knew that he was really awake; his head was clearing, senses gradually sharpening. He heard a cart or a gurney rolling down the hallway outside the room, and as his gaze fixed more closely onto Vic's sleeping face he could see a strand of hair that had fallen across her mouth fluttering as she exhaled softly. He wanted to reach out and brush the stray wisp away, but his limbs still felt heavy and his uninjured hand was otherwise occupied.

For a long moment he simply sat and watched her. What was she doing here? Judging from the quality of light entering the window on the opposite side of the room, it was the middle of the night. If Vic had fallen asleep, it likely meant that she had been here for some time— how had she ended up by his side on Saturday night when she should still be in Jackson Hole with her husband until Sunday afternoon?

Although he didn't want to disturb her, Walt's limbs felt stiff and being in the hospital always made him a bit restless. He moved his legs, which caused his hand to shift slightly where it was cradled beneath hers. Fascinated by the softness of her unconscious touch, Walt twisted his arm so that his palm faced upwards and pressed against hers. Slowly he twined their fingers together, taking advantage of her unaware state and allowing himself the freedom to tenderly caress Vic's knuckles with his thumb.

He couldn't help but notice that her wedding ring was conspicuously absent. That wasn't so unusual when they were on duty, since it certainly was safer for the hand during any physical confrontations that might arise. But right now they weren't at work, and there was nothing safe in the way Walt felt about that unadorned ring finger after the life-affirming ordeal he'd just been through.

To say that he didn't view his feelings toward Vic differently after nearly being killed would be a lie, but Walt knew he would have to bury those feelings and keep his distance when reality reared its ugly head. She was married, and his life was still so full of painful trials and tribulations— he tried not to get his hopes up that her presence here meant that something could change. Walt knew the narcotics were likely doing a number on his emotions, but maybe he could have this small moment to hold onto just the same.

Walt must have squeezed Vic's hand a bit too hard, because he could feel a jolt run up her arm and through the rest of her frame as she snapped awake. Her eyes darted around, and he could almost see her law-person's quick assessment of their surroundings. She glanced at the window and noticed it was dark, her eyes scanning the room to see that it was empty apart from them and then widening slightly when they landed upon their entwined hands on top of the white bedclothes.

Finally, her gaze traveled to his face. Walt could see those flecks of brown and gold and green even in the low light, and the tenderness and relief in her slightly sleepy expression made his chest feel tight. Perhaps he had caught her in an unguarded instant, but that look in her eyes would give him yet another thing to dream about.

"Hey," she broke into the silence.

"Hey."

His voice felt a bit rough, from what had likely been more hours of uninterrupted sleep than he'd had in weeks. He gave her a small smile, rolling his shoulders to alleviate the crick in his neck and accidentally tugging at their joined hands. She must have thought he was trying to pull free, because she started to withdraw her hands.

"Sorry, I…"

Walt let her take the hand that was resting beneath his, but not the one whose fingers were intertwined with his own. He grasped firmly, tightening the contact and bringing their hands up to rest against his torso. Quietly, he echoed the sentiment she had conveyed within the landscape of the dream he'd so recently had. "Don't be."

Blushing and biting her lip, Vic relaxed into the contact. Her chair was already perched close enough to the bed that the position caused no discomfort. She looked like she wanted to say something, but her mouth opened and closed noiselessly.

Taking the initiative, Walt ventured a question of his own. "You okay?"

His reward was a brief toothy smile and a short laugh. Vic shook her head, incredulous. "Shouldn't I be asking _you_ that? You're the one in the hospital bed."

"This time."

"Yeah, _this_ time. And you got yourself shot with more than a stupid tranquilizer…" She trailed off, averting her gaze, and he realized she was crying and didn't want him to see— crying because of _him_, something Walt certainly couldn't allow.

"I'm fine, Vic. Doc Weston's got me patched up good as new, see?"

Her eyes met his, rimmed with tears that she wiped away with her free hand. "God, I'm a mess. I feel like I've been crying all fucking day…"

Those tears were swiftly replaced by more of the same, and he felt a desperate need to comfort her even though he was supposed to be the injured one. Walt wasn't sure if Vic's emotional outpouring was all because of him or if there was something else that had upset her, but in that moment it didn't seem to matter. He tugged on her hand, as firmly as he could without hurting himself. Vic took the hint, standing up from the chair.

"Come here."

Walt scooted sideways in the narrow hospital bed, encouraging her to sit beside him. She obliged, curling into him and draping an arm across his midsection. She had noticed the bandages on his left side and seemed unsure of where to lay her head.

"Just…" Using his good hand, he guided her so that the side of her face lay against his chest beyond the point where the bullet had ripped into his shoulder. He carefully wrapped his left arm around her back, completing the circle. Walt could feel the moisture from her tears penetrating the thin material at the neck of his hospital gown, and he suddenly realized just how intimate this embrace really was with him barely dressed and her pressed up against him with nothing but a thin sheet and blanket to separate them.

Dressed casually in a t-shirt and jeans, Vic seemed to feel no such apprehension. She clung to him, pressing her face upward so that her forehead rested against the side of his jaw and he could feel her breath on the skin of his neck. The tears gradually subsided and her breathing evened out. The arm that was draped across him gave a small squeeze, and her hand gently traveled down to brush across the uninjured fingers on his right hand.

"Walt," she whispered against his neck. "I thought you were—" A pause. "I thought… that I was gonna lose you."

Craning his neck, he could just see from this vantage that her eyes were tightly shut. Walt's mind and senses reeled, feeling every inch of contact between them and frantically trying to talk himself out of thinking that she meant what it sounded like she did. He stared at the ceiling, trying to think of something to say, but Vic apparently wasn't finished.

"I mean I know I sound like an idiot. It's not like I can ever _have _you, so how could you be mine to lose?" She released a long, shuddering breath. "But when Ruby called I knew that if you were… _gone_, I couldn't— I wouldn't be able to—"

Walt shifted his body sideways, twisting so that his hand could wind up to cup the side of her face and position it so that he was looking straight into her eyes. The tears were back, accompanied by a deep-cutting pain that he wanted to erase right along with the salty trails that his thumb was swiping away.

His voice was low but deep, only for her in that moment. "You've got me, Vic."

Their eyes were locked, Vic's gaze swimming into focus and latching more firmly onto his own. Walt tried to tell her everything that he just didn't know how to say with words— sometimes verbal communication was seriously overrated.

"I… what?"

Bending his head closer, Walt brushed his fingertips across her lips and over her cheek. "You've had me for a long time."

Her hand came up, fingers carefully tracing over the small butterfly bandage above his eyebrow and continuing along the contours of his face. Their lips were drifting closer, toward the inevitable, the long approach coming to an abrupt end as Vic surged forward and pressed her lips firmly against his.

**xxxxx  
><strong>**xxxxx**

Sorry for the rather abrupt ending to the chapter, but it was getting up there in length and I wanted to update before my long week of overtime at work begins! This was a good stopping point, as I wanted to switch back to Vic's perspective— the next installment will begin as a direct continuation of this scene. ;D

There are probably only about two chapters left in this story, so I hope everyone is still enjoying it! Writing this AU version of 'Population 25' has been quite a wild ride, so I would love to hear what you all think!


	7. Chapter 7

Sorry for the delay with this chapter— I was on overtime all last week and unfortunately had a death in my family as well. Still, in spite of the circumstances I was itching to get back to this! The story should be wrapping up in a chapter or two.

Bit of mature content in this one… Vic certainly does have a spicy dreamland! ;D

**Jackson  
><strong>**Part VII**

_**Late Saturday night, Durant Memorial Hospital**_

There's something about the way his lips don't hesitate against hers for even the slightest moment that gives her pause.

In all her dreams, there always seemed to be that one moment of reluctance. Vic is sure it's because she always expected that of Walt in real life, that he would be unsure, that he would have misgivings or hang-ups when it came to any sort of physicality between them.

She may have initiated it, possibly. Or had _he_ started it, with the face touching and those damn intense eyes? Either way, he seems to be taking the reins. Vic's memory concerning the order of events is a bit fuzzy at this point, probably because of how Walt's top lip is digging its way beneath her own in perfect synchronization with the way her bottom lip is pulling and dragging over his. He's pushing closer when she would have expected him to draw back, and she is nothing short of _intoxicated_.

It occurs to her that Walt has been shot numerous times and should be resting, not shifting his upper body so that he's leaned over her with his right arm pressed warm against her side. As he deepens the kiss, brushing her hair away from the side of her face with the three uninjured fingers of his right hand, all she can do is make a small sound of contentment and relax into the less-than-luxurious hospital pillows.

Walt's tongue is meeting her own with gently confident strokes. It's deep and slow and Vic is absently thankful to the slight incline of the bed for preventing a full-on dizzy spell as the contact intensifies. Her hand strokes across his stubbled cheek of its own accord, and he shivers slightly as she pushes up into the kiss.

Both her hands are on his face now, mapping the textures and contours while she holds him to her. Walt knows what he's doing, playing that tantalizing game where his tongue teases and then retreats. She knows that game too, pulling back to brush her mouth across his in a feather-soft touch before drawing his bottom lip between both of hers and giving it a purposeful suck. His body tenses up as a result of her actions, and the quiet groan that goes along with it tells Vic that it's not because she's aggravating his injuries.

By way of confirmation, Walt draws his face back a few inches and looks down at her, pupils blown large with what she hopes is purely a combination of lust and fierce affection and not some percentage of narcotic impairment.

"Vic."

He breathes it against her lips, and then kisses her again. Walt is attempting to push his whole body closer to hers, but he finds himself impeded by the sheet and blanket that separate them. Vic wants the closeness just as much as he does, so she loops one arm around his back and slides one of her legs over top of his above the covers. She only remembers that he's dressed in the flimsy hospital gown when her hand encounters the smooth bare skin of his back.

The warm solidity and enveloping heat of his body are both a comfort and a danger. Walt is making her feel safe and his kisses are everything she has ever hoped they would be, more, but the situation and the mere idea that she could have lost him and never experienced any of this adds a certain sense of frantic desperation to the encounter. As much as she doesn't want to hurt him, she finds herself craving something far beyond these gentle explorations.

Walt's hand has somehow slid down to rest at her hip, the combination of bandaged and un-bandaged fingers teasing at the line where the bottom of her t-shirt meets the top of her jeans. Vic has pressed closer into his embrace, her chest crushed against his as they lay facing one another on the bed. Their lips break apart, breathing uneven, and she can't contain the small moan that erupts when he buries his face in the crook of her neck and kisses the skin there. Walt shifts again, stubbornly struggling against the bedclothes as he attempts to roll on top of her.

Vic gasps, feeling a surprising and insistent hardness against her hipbone. Her head is spinning. They're at the _hospital_, and she's pretty sure they've both forgotten that fact for the past several minutes. And as many times as she's imagined their first kiss spiraling into something this _deliciously_ hot and heavy, now really isn't the time or the place. She's warring with herself, still molding her hands over the shape of him through the thin cotton material.

At some point they have resumed kissing, tongues twisting, and Vic doesn't remember being this lost in someone since her high school boyfriend invited her over while his parents weren't home and they got horizontal for the first time. Walt pushes his hips against hers again, and she's almost ready to forget her concerns about the location and circumstances. But then he releases a muffled grunt against her lips and it sounds more like pain than pleasure. Vic draws away, and can read in the set of his jaw as he settles onto his back that he's trying to mask some degree of discomfort.

Her gaze is soft as she looks over at Walt, his chest rising and falling rapidly in the wake of their activities. Propping herself up on one elbow to relieve any pressure she may have accidentally put on his injuries, Vic bends to lightly kiss his lips. She's still touching him, absently, but her focus is on the look he's giving her. Tenderness, vulnerability, frustration, and longing. For such a tough guy, he communicates so much with his eyes. It makes her want to reassure him, give him what he wants but not cross the line, protect him without making him feel weak.

"Walt?" It's almost a whisper.

There's a long pause before he answers, during which he reaches up to push some loose strands of hair behind her ear. "Yeah?"

"Will you just hold me?"

He nods slowly. His arm is still around her, so Vic tucks herself closer and puts her head back on Walt's chest where he guided her before. She snuggles against his side, and finds herself relaxing completely as his fingers stroke up and down her spine. It's been the longest day in memory, and Vic realizes she hadn't known how exhausted she was until this moment.

It wasn't her intention to fall asleep— Walt is alive and she's finally in his arms and she wants to stay awake and commit it all to memory. In the end she just fits too perfectly in his embrace, and the warmth and contentment overtake her ability to reason. Walt's chest is rising and falling with steady, even breaths and Vic's eyes drift shut with the rhythm of his heart pulsing against her ear.

_**xxx Vic's Dreamland xxx**_

"You know, as much respect as I have for this uniform, I think I prefer you without it?"

Vic is barely through the door, and he's on her. The duty jacket goes first, haphazardly hung on the doorknob. Walt is behind her, pressing in, arms winding around her and lips grazing the back of her neck as he speaks. She leans back, tilting her head sideways to give him better access and shivering at the sensation of his five o'clock shadow rubbing against her cheek. He starts working on her shirt buttons and she sighs, reaching up and back to run her fingers through his hair.

"What's gotten into you? Long day?"

There's a telltale bulge pushing into the back of her hip that makes her suspect that Walt has planned this ambush ahead of time. Vic didn't get her sheriff's badge out of a box of Cracker Jacks, after all.

His hand tugs her undershirt out of the front of her jeans and slides beneath it, warm fingers caressing the skin of her stomach and dragging up over her slightly ticklish ribs. "Every day is long when my wife goes off to work and leaves me here alone."

She turns, noting his rumpled appearance and already slightly-unbuttoned denim shirt. "You bored? I thought retirement agreed with you."

Tugging her closer, he leans down and brushes his lips over hers. "It does. Doesn't stop me from missing you, though."

They've become so adept at undressing each other, they barely have to halt their frenzied kissing to get out of their boots and jeans. Walt's hands are everywhere and they're both so low on patience that Vic knows they aren't going to make it to the bedroom. Clothes discarded in a heap, they maneuver to the sofa. He flops into a sitting position and drags her onto his lap. She teases him, just a bit, rubbing against him until he makes that slightly growly sound that gets her _even hotter_ and grips the sides of her hips to pull her down onto him.

"Oh my God," she moans quietly, bracing her hands against his shoulders as he flexes upward and drives even deeper. It doesn't seem to matter how many times they're together— Vic doesn't think she'll ever get over how amazing it feels when he first slides into her. It's intense and fulfilling and Walt is so hard and so eager to please her, even after six months of marriage it makes her head spin and her extremities tingle.

It starts out slow, with hitched breathing and drawn out eye contact. She leans in to kiss him and the angle changes, and suddenly she needs more of _that. _One of his arms winds around her waist, cradling as she writhes against him with increasing speed. They try to kiss again but they're both a bit breathless and distracted by the rhythm of their coupling. Walt settles for grasping the back of her neck and whispering sensual encouragements against the shell of her ear, all "Oh yes" and "Just like that, my love" in that low rumbling voice.

Vic curls one hand into Walt's chest and makes a choked-off noise, bearing down and rolling her hips back and forth with him buried deep inside as she drives them both over the edge. The climax is potent and prolonged, with echoes that continue well after she has slumped against him so their naked torsos are pressed together and her face is buried in the crook of his neck.

Eventually they rearrange themselves so that they're laying on the couch together, limbs entwined and a blanket draped over them. It's nice, _more_ than nice, and Vic can't help but feel outrageously lucky as Walt's fingers trace lazy patterns over her skin. She shuts her eyes and basks in it, in the perfection of just being in his arms.

Having her eyes shut has the proven side effect of heightening her other senses, and she notices something. "It smells like food in here. Have you been… _cooking_?"

She can hear the smile in his reply. "Some of the best chefs are men, you know. A few are even house-husbands."

Cracking one eye open, she twists and peeks up at him. "You're making food _other than pancakes_?"

"Maybe I _was_ a bit bored." He kisses the edge of her eyebrow. "Beef stew's in the oven. Be ready in fifteen minutes or so."

Relaxing into him, Vic purrs contentedly. "Good, that means we don't have to move for a while."

As they lay quietly, daylight fading outside the window and the warm illumination from the hearth fire glinting off their wedding rings, she suddenly remembers the thing she had intended to tell him when she got home today. The super important, life-changing news that she totally forgot about the moment their lips met. She wasn't sure she knew the right words to tell him this thing, so she would just have to wing it.

"Hey Walt?"

"Hmm?"

Biting her lip, she allows herself a small grin. "Dinner isn't the only thing that's in the oven."

She can almost hear the wheels turning in his keen and clever brain. "What? Are you—"

Tangling his fingers with hers, she moves their joined hands to rest atop the still-flat plane of her stomach. "Went to see the doctor on Tuesday afternoon and he confirmed it."

Walt uses his other hand to tilt her chin up so that they are eye to eye. "Vic, you're…?"

Vic nods, enjoying the sight of his utterly bewildered smile. "…adding 'stay at home dad' to your list of retiree responsibilities? Yep. That should keep you from getting too bored."

He caresses the side of her face with his large fingers, thumb resting at the corner of her mouth as he leans in to kiss her deeply. It's warm and tender and when he's done he looks so completely delighted that she feels like she might cry.

One of his eyebrows twitches, a tell indicating that he's nervous. Before she has a chance to ask, he voices it.

"Are you happy?"

She nods again, starting to feel like one of those dashboard bobble-heads. "Incredibly happy. And honestly kinda scared. Is that normal?"

"I think so," Walt says, splaying his hand over her bare belly in a manner that is both reverential and possessive. "A baby? This is amazing. _You're_ amazing."

"I'm a pregnant sheriff. The voters are gonna love this one."

"I'll still vote for you."

"Only because you like how my tits look in that uniform."

"I never said that!"

"I saw you sneaking a peek."

"We're married, I'm allowed to peek all I want."

They're both smiling like a pair of idiots, and Vic knows she'll think back on this as one of the happiest moments of her life. Her husband is absurdly handsome, reclined on the sofa with the blankets pulled up just below his chest and those eyes peering up at her all dark and velvet blue. A timer sounds from somewhere in the kitchen, and she levers herself up to a sitting position.

"Well, I hope your cooking is up to scratch. I'm eating for two now, after all."

Vic stands up, naked, and shoots a sexy smile over her shoulder before picking up Walt's discarded shirt and shrugging into it as she walks toward the kitchen.

He releases a whistling breath as he observes her progress. "Boy howdy…"

_**x**_

Back in the real world, Vic starts awake. She's disoriented, reeling, feeling weirder than she had that time she dreamt about rollerskating down the side of a giant banana. Walt is sleeping soundly, arms clasped around her. She doesn't have time to digest the dream before she realizes someone has just walked into the room.

Eyes snapping toward the doorway, she's met by Cady's wide-eyed stare. The other woman is momentarily frozen, but finally snaps out of it and takes several steps toward the bed. Vic doesn't want to wake Walt, but she feels an explanation might just be somewhat necessary under the circumstances.

She tries to whisper loudly enough for Cady to hear. "Cady, this isn't what it—"

Well, that sounded stupid. And not just to her, apparently.

"Isn't what it looks like?" Cady breaks into an amused grin. "It looks like snuggling."

Vic sighs. "Okay, so maybe it is. But, umm…"

What the hell was she supposed to say?

"Maybe I should go." Vic attempts to extract herself from Walt's embrace, but he's holding her pretty firmly for someone who's unconscious.

Cady surprises her by putting both hands up in protest. "No no, don't move! He looks so peaceful and he really needs the rest. If this is what does it for him then I think you should stay put."

"You don't seem very weirded out by this."

She gives a cute little snort-laugh. "Kinda saw it coming, not gonna lie."

"Umm." Vic's vocabulary is suffering horrendously, but this seems like probably the wrong time to break out any of her more colorful language.

At least _one_ of them still knew English. "It's about 5:30am. The nurses usually start their rounds at 7 or so, if you're worried about them seeing you." She picked up her sweater, briefly stopping next to the bed to kiss Walt's forehead. Shaking her head, she grinned wryly. "I have a lot of work to do on Henry's case, but I didn't want Dad to be alone if he woke up. Seems I shouldn't have worried."

Vic sinks back against Walt as Cady takes her leave. He really _does_ look remarkably tranquil, and she can't help but think about the dream she's just had and how happy they'd been. She sighs, nuzzling her face against Walt's collarbone. _You are getting way ahead of yourself, girl. _

7 o'clock was a long way off… maybe this time, she'd be able to stay awake and enjoy the moment.

**xxxxx  
><strong>**xxxxx**

In case anyone is wondering, I am in fact the crazy person who dreamed about rollerskating on a gigantic banana. I had a lot to drink last night, okay? ;D

Walt should be getting released from the hospital soon, hmm? Will he be trying to get straight back to work, or will certain parties conspire and force him to take some days off to recuperate? Vic might have to do some sheriffin' if that's the case… Will a bit of time apart leave sheriff or deputy with any creeping doubts? I'm the author. Trust me, I know.

Theories, questions, demands, encouragement, and abuse are all accepted via the little review box! Light on the abuse, preferably!


	8. Chapter 8

Well here we are! Sorry I've been averaging more or less a chapter a week recently; things have kicked themselves up a notch at work, and I've been busy otherwise as well. The next (and possibly last!) installment should be along a bit faster since I have a couple days off happening in quick succession. Thanks to all who have stuck with the story, and for your comments!

**Jackson  
><strong>**Part VIII**

Walt had been at home for three days and he was most definitely going a bit stir crazy.

There were things he should be doing, things related to Henry's case and Martha's murder and also to his duty as sheriff, but Cady had ordered that he take the rest of the week off while she headed to Denver and Vic had insisted via several phone conversations that she had everything under control at the office.

It's not that he disbelieved her. She was one of the most capable deputies he'd ever had, but there'd been a murder and with Branch joining Cady on her trip to Colorado that left only Vic and Ferg to investigate the death of George Linder plus any other crimes that might eventuate. He should be there, at his desk at the very least if not out at the scene. His daughter had stopped just short of confiscating the keys to his truck, but Walt knew that Ruby was in on this conspiracy and showing his face in the office would incur her wrath.

He was seriously thinking about doing it anyway. What was it about the women in his life that rendered Walt somewhat helpless? The pain was still there, sure, but it wasn't enough to justify this level of mollycoddling. He'd stopped taking the painkillers two days ago, so his head was clear and his body might be a bit banged up but he still felt strong enough to get on with it.

Speaking of women, all this time alone with his thoughts had repeatedly led him back to questions about the potential changes in his relationship with his deputy. Walt was not the sort of man who would ever pretend that a dose of narcotics had impaired his judgement. They had kissed, and he refused to cheapen the experience or disregard what it meant for them. He had welcomed it, wanted it, would've been willing to take things even further in that moment if the circumstances had been different.

In their brief conversations over the past few days, there had been hints that Vic's marriage was on the rocks. Walt experienced a stab of guilt when he considered the idea and felt… hopeful. They hadn't talked about it, the way she showed up at the hospital like a worried spouse or a frantic lover when she should have been on a romantic getaway with her husband hundreds of miles away. They hadn't talked about the way she held his hand or how they'd kissed each other like there was no tomorrow. They hadn't talked about the fact that he had laid his feelings bare, or the fact that they'd fit together so perfectly as she slept in his arms.

Mainly they'd talked about water rights and life insurance policies. What he secretly wanted was to kiss her again, but there had been no sign of her here. Walt knew on an intellectual level that she was bogged down with work and likely didn't have time for social calls, but more vulnerable emotion-driven parts of him were left wondering who Vic was going home to at night, if she was going home at all.

Walt tried to read a book. He tried to clean. He thought about splitting some firewood, but his shoulder told him "Nope." The afternoon dragged on and Walt found his patience wearing thin. Every man has his breaking point, and his turned out to be when nobody answered the phone at Ruby's desk the third time he tried to call. That was when Walt secured his sidearm, carefully shrugged into his coat, donned his hat and grabbed his keys in what seemed like one oddly balletic and drawn out motion. He was at the station within fifteen minutes.

Wishing to avoid as much fuss as possible, he entered through the private door of his office and deposited his coat and hat before venturing into the main part of the station. The lights were on but nobody was home, as the saying goes, with the notably stalwart exception of Ruby. She was standing next to her desk talking on the phone, still wearing her coat with her purse hanging from one arm as though she'd just arrived or returned from an errand. Perhaps that was why there had been no answer when he'd called?

She hadn't noticed him yet, so Walt perched on the edge of Vic's desk and absently listened to Ruby's half of the phone conversation. As he leaned his frame against the piece of furniture his hand encountered an object with an oddly rubbery surface. Picking it up, he found himself examining Vic's beloved hockey puck. It was something of a touchstone for his deputy, it seemed, and holding it in his hands made him feel a bit closer to her.

He noticed that Ruby was using a familiar tone with whoever she was speaking with, so it must be someone she knew well.

"Mmhmm. Oh dear, did he really? I'm sorry to hear that. Men are worse than children sometimes."

As a man, Walt made a concerted effort not to take offense. There was a pause as Ruby listened to the words from the other end of the phone line.

"Vic, honey, just do whatever you need to do."

Well, that solved the mystery of who Ruby was talking with. Walt's ears pricked up, suddenly more interested in what was being said.

"I can take care of things just fine for one night. I'm sure you'll get it all worked out."

_Get it all worked out? _What was it about that phrase that gave him a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach? _She's got a husband, you idiot. They moved here together from the other side of the country. Of course she's got to try._

The conversation wrapped up quickly, and Ruby stepped out from behind the desk to hang her coat on the rack. He figured he may as well announce himself before she caught him out lurking.

"Everything alright?"

Ruby gave a small start, turning with her palm pressed to her sternum. "Walter, you scared me!" She recovered her composure with characteristic speed. "And just what are you doing here? You should be at home resting."

"Had enough rest to last me a while. Thought I could make myself useful."

Relaxing slightly as she exhaled, Ruby glided over to join him. She leaned against Branch's similarly vacant desk and clasped her hands in front of her. "Not much use for either of us right now. I just came in to cover the phones. Things have finally calmed down at the Linder's, so Ferg said he'd finish up out there."

Walt turned the hockey puck over in his hands. "And Vic?"

"She'd been on duty for 36 hours. Said she had some problems at home she needed to take care of."

"What sort of problems?" He hoped he didn't sound too interested.

The older woman looked at him sidelong. "What sort do you think? That husband of hers…" Ruby shook her head. "I guess it's none of our business is it? She spent the past two nights here at the station and that's all I know."

Although Walt was skeptical concerning what Ruby did or didn't know, he couldn't fault her for her discretion. He also couldn't help but wonder whether Vic had slept at the station as a matter of convenience while working the Linder case, or if there was a more complicated reason… and if he was part of it.

"Okay," he ran his uninjured hand over the stubble on the bottom half of his face. "I know you must have a pile of overdue paperwork for me to sign. Statements for me to read? Maybe some post-its I need to un-stick?"

She gave him a pointed look.

"Couple hours and I'll go back home, I promise."

"Oh _alright_. Lord knows I can't stop you once your mind is set— stubborn as a mule. Why don't you go have a seat in your office and I'll put some coffee on?"

He flashed a small grin. "Thanks, Ruby."

There _was_ paperwork. Statements, invoices for him to authorize, all-points bulletins to his attention, and one official complaint filed by Nick Holman in regard to the 'disrespectful' conduct of Deputy Victoria Moretti. The last one made for colorful reading, that was for sure.

Walt hadn't noticed that he'd carried Vic's hockey puck into the office with him until he was halfway through the invoices with his pen held awkwardly between bandaged fingers and the departmental stamp resting next to his left hand. He knew in his marrow that if Vic decided to reconcile with her husband, he would have to be the bigger man and walk away. The concept made him almost nauseous, anxiety weighing heavy at the core of him.

So much uncertainty permeated the events of the past few days, yet his mind was constantly drawn back to those tender but thrilling actions at the hospital. Had he jumped the gun in the heat of the moment? When Vic said she could never have him, had she meant that her marriage would always remain as an obstacle between them? Walt had assumed that she doubted his feelings, but perhaps she was unsure of her own and he had been too wrapped up in the heightened emotions to notice.

Whatever the case may be, he knew he would have to keep his distance from here on out. As deeply as he had fallen in love with her and as much as it might hurt, he couldn't interfere in her marriage or allow himself to be the reason why it failed. Intellectually it was what he knew he had to do, but one thing Walt wasn't ready to admit was that on some level it was about protecting his own heart, too.

**x**

The son of a bitch wanted to argue about _everything. _

Vic briefly allowed herself to feel thankful that they didn't have a pet, never mind any kids. After leaving the hospital the other morning she had called in a favor and managed to find a decent divorce attorney who would meet with her on a Sunday. The trick was finding someone willing and able to serve the damn papers once they were drawn up. Sunday was a no-go on that score. She sure as hell wasn't going back to the house without making her intentions abundantly clear, so she'd spent the night at the station.

That turned out to be convenient, since the call came in early Monday for the Linder 'murder.' Which, to put it mildly, turned into quite a shit show. It had been _ages_ since Vic had wanted to punch somebody in the face as much as she wanted to do it to Nick Holman, and although she could readily understand the standpoint of the Linder women they weren't exactly helping either.

The combined level of frustration had been such that she'd spilled her guts to Ferg about her marriage after they'd been at the crime scene for hours and he'd innocently asked if she might want to go home for a while. Vic had to give Ferg a lot of credit— he did a good job of schooling the surprise out of his boyish features and then helpfully pointed out that as a sheriff's deputy he himself was authorized to serve process. She seriously could have kissed him.

Speaking of kissing, Vic had found herself overwhelmingly distracted by thoughts of what had happened at the hospital. She was willing to admit that the way she'd thrown herself into the Linder case and teamed up with Cady to make sure Walt stayed at home to recuperate absolutely screamed avoidance, something she had plenty of practice with. It wasn't just that they had kissed, it was the sentiment behind it and the heat that had erupted and the way it made her want to _do_ things. Crazy, sexy, incredibly lewd things.

And yet, now that the papers were in Sean's hands and she was able to envision a scenario where those kisses with Walt could evolve into something more? Vic was scared as hell. Scared that she'd misread the situation, made assumptions about feelings that might not be reciprocated. Scared that she'd taken advantage of him in his injured state and made a god damn mess of everything.

When she'd spoken to Walt on the phone, he hadn't said anything. Not that he was prone to being chatty, but pathetically enough she could have used the reassurance just this once. With some guys she would have dropped a flirtatious comment to try and provoke a reaction, but she couldn't do that with Walt— this was too important to jeopardize by being flippant. So she didn't say anything, he didn't say anything, and they dropped back into that time-tested pattern of not saying _anything ever._

After finishing up with the Linders and the suicide-that-wasn't, Vic had decided to pay the piper and headed home to face Sean. He had called and texted since returning form their ill-fated trip, and she had ignored his calls and provided a clipped text response saying that she was on a case. Once the divorce papers had been dropped off, radio silence had ensued. She almost feared that he might show up at the station and cause a scene, but it appeared he'd been saving the histrionics for their face-to-face reunion. To make matters worse, the divorce papers were yet unsigned pending a "thorough examination by his lawyer."

In the end she'd packed a bag and told him he could have use of the house until their lawyers sorted it out or he chose to take off for Australia. The spectrum of their interaction ranged from Sean accusing her of spending the night with Walt— Ha! If he only knew— to Sean trying to corner her in the bedroom and make it right with sex yet _again_.

He'd turned spiteful in the end, and perhaps she deserved that. It got to her, though, his words about Walt and how he'd have his fun with her and then realize she wasn't worth it. It wasn't so much that she thought Walt would ever treat her so carelessly— more that she felt deep down that she didn't deserve him and wasn't worthy of his trust and deep affection. That he'd already had one great love in his life and she would never be able to measure up.

After Vic left the house she'd checked in with Ruby and driven for a while as she tried to decide whether she should use her personal savings to rent a motel room for a few days, sleep at the station, or take Ruby up on her offer of the spare bedroom for a night or two until she got things sorted out. She drove aimlessly, barely paying attention to the turns or thinking much about an eventual destination.

That was what made it such a surprise, when she realized she had turned onto Walt's road and that there was absolutely nothing else out in that direction that could possibly be of interest. Maybe it was her subconscious telling her what it was she needed to do— Vic didn't want to go to the station so that Ferg and Ruby could walk on eggshells, she certainly had no intention of spending any more time arguing with Sean about who got to keep the fucking _furniture_, and the deep restlessness she felt indicated that it was time to stop avoiding the thing she feared the most.

Walt wasn't home. Which was typical, really— she was surprised they'd been able to keep him away from the station for _this_ long. Ruby would probably humor him for a while, and he was smart enough to ease himself back in to his duties as long as nothing major kicked off with Henry's situation. Vic parked her truck and walked to the front of the cabin, perching on the edge of the porch.

The weather was mild, it was quiet, and Vic had a lot to think about. The peacefulness of this place and the memory of how Walt had kissed her, held her, soothed away some of her doubts. She knew he felt at least some of what she did, and he'd even said he was _hers._ After all these long months of trying to stifle it, of lying to herself in everything but her dreams, maybe she was ready to wait for Walt to return so that she could finally tell him that she was _his, _too.

**xxxxx  
><strong>**xxxxx**

Bit of a transitional chapter, but these two both have lots of thoughts. Haha! I have a feeling once Walt and Vic meet again and get their heads screwed on right, they can… well, I've already used 'screwed' in this sentence so I think I'll leave the rest up to imagination. ;)

Love this chapter? Hate it? Want to take it to the prom? Do drop a review and let me know!


	9. Chapter 9

Here's an update for you! Sorry it's a bit on the short side, I haven't had many large chunks of time to work on it this week but I wanted to keep the story moving. Probably only one chapter left to go after this.

Now that we have confirmation of _Longmire_ season 4, I'm super excited and full of more fic ideas. Hope everyone has a great Thanksgiving holiday! :D

**Jackson  
><strong>**Part IX**

_Wednesday Evening_

He hadn't expected to see her there waiting for him when he went back home. It was like that saying about the watched pot that never boils— of course it followed that she would come to see him as soon as he left the cabin. There were so many aspects to life that were all about timing, and Walt couldn't help but wonder whether his relationship with Vic would end up as a casualty of that unfortunate truth.

The sun was setting, sky displaying hues of orange and purple blending with the deeper indigo of encroaching twilight. The fading illumination cast a certain neutral warmth over the scene, and Vic was calm and still as he approached. Her legs were hanging off the edge of the porch, right foot swinging to and fro as the only indicator of potential nervous tension.

Breaking the silence didn't seem like an immediate priority. Walt settled himself next to her, close but not touching, removing his hat as he leaned against the structure with his feet still firmly on the ground. A long moment floated by as they both gathered their thoughts.

She had been the first to speak last time they met, so Walt figured that put the ball in his court. "Hey."

"Hey," she replied, corner of her mouth turning upward in a brief grin.

He couldn't help but wonder if she was thinking about their last meeting, too, especially after the identical exchange of greetings. "Umm. Sorry to keep you waiting…"

She didn't look like she minded, and with Vic impatience tended to signal pretty blatantly.

"How long have you been here?"

"Hour, hour and a half." She shrugged, gaze remaining fixed on the distant horizon. "How are things at the station?"

Of course she knew. After all, where else would he have been?

"Seem to be okay. Ruby even let me have my paperwork, so I guess I'm not in too much trouble for leaving the house." He smiled absently.

Vic's boot brushed against the leg of his jeans on the backswing, barely making contact. "We know you can handle yourself, Walt. Just don't overdo it."

"Thanks." Leaning back slightly, Walt let his eyes linger on her familiar profile. "What about you?"

"What _about_ me?"

He tilted his head to one side. "You've had a long couple days. The case. Everything." How the hell was he supposed to approach this subject? He felt like an awkward teenager. "Are things okay at home?"

Turning her head toward him, she arched an eyebrow. "I remembered to water the plants if that's what you mean."

This wasn't going to be easy. "Nope," he sighed, looking down at his hands before braving eye contact. "No. I mean… is everything alright with your husband? I uhh, overheard Ruby saying you were trying to work things out."

It looked like she was chewing on the inside of her cheek, and Walt had the distinct impression that he'd said something that didn't exactly please her. "Oh did you now? And what other conclusions did you choose to draw from the ass-end of someone else's phone conversation?"

"Sorry, I just—"

"You just _what_? Thought after I went all Florence fucking Nightingale on you at the hospital I would go running back to Sean for round two?"

Walt shook his head and reached toward her involuntarily, placing a hand on her bicep. "Vic, he's your husband. Everybody makes mistakes—"

She flinched, jerking away from his touch. "If that's what you really think and you aren't even going to _ask_ me about it, then maybe the mistake was for me to come here."

Something was going terribly wrong, and Walt wasn't sure what to do about it. He reached for Vic's hand, grasping her fingers gently. "Don't say that. Please, talk to me."

Vic's breathing was still on the rapid side, but she appeared to relax and it didn't escape Walt's notice that she accepted his touch this time. Her hand was soft, and although it might not be as dainty or delicate as some it still felt wonderful cradled in his larger one. She was thinking, and he would let her do it for as long as she needed to.

"What I was talking to Ruby about…" She bit her lip, reordering those carefully collected thoughts. "Sean and I are getting a divorce. I had the papers drawn up and Ferg delivered them for me Tuesday morning. Unfortunately my soon to be ex-husband is not taking the split so well."

Walt's heart was in his throat. Nerves caused him to squeeze her hand, and he compensated by stroking his thumb across her knuckles. "I'm sorry."

"Really? I'm not."

She looked askance at him, as if she was expecting more by way of a response. Considering the circumstances, he could understand why.

"Not sorry that this is the choice you made. Just sorry that you have to go through it at all." He watched a hawk swooping along far above the distant trees. "The end of a relationship is always messy. I've seen how divorce can change people. I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

"Do you think it's gonna change me? Is that the problem?"

"Problem? What do you mean?"

Her face displayed an uncertainty that simply didn't belong there. Vic was always strong, and she knew her own mind. It was amazing how the heart could mess with logic and turn everything on its head. Walt hated the sight of her doubt, but his ability to reassure her was crippled by the weight of his own.

"Well I thought… you might be happy. You know? Not about my messy, acrimonious divorce. Just… maybe about what it could mean. For us?"

This was the part that bothered Walt. He had such feelings of tenderness toward her. He loved her, and he knew it wasn't something he could easily hide. He didn't want to hide it. He wanted to shout it from the rooftops, but the situation was complicated and there were things he really needed to understand.

"Did this happen because of me? Because of… what we did at the hospital?"

"No," she answered without hesitation. It made him feel better, until she scrunched her eyebrows and peered at him thoughtfully. "…and yes. I can't lie and say you weren't part of it."

Sighing, he looked at his boots. "I never meant to interfere in your marriage, you have to know that."

Vic surprised him by hopping off the porch, squaring up to stand in front of him and restore their riveting eye contact. "You didn't do anything, Walt. You didn't need to." Holding both his hands in hers, she continued. "Sean and I, we've been headed toward this since before we even came to Wyoming. We've never wanted the same things, not when it really comes down to it, and he's always disapproved of my career. I can't say I blame him, after everything that happened back home."

Walt pulled Vic a bit closer, so that she was standing between his legs as he continued to lean against the edge of the porch. He regarded her thoughtfully. "Things happen in life, but this job… it's so deeply ingrained. It becomes part of who you are. He shouldn't expect you to change that, Vic."

"Yeah? Well, he did. That trip to Jackson… it was our last chance to fix things, and Sean's way of doing that was to demand I quit and move to Australia with him."

The mere idea of her leaving, moving halfway across the world, caused Walt to swallow heavily. "And you said no?"

She let out a small chuckle. "My answer was heavily implied. I don't wanna leave here, for a lot of reasons." Peering up at him from beneath her eyelashes, she tilted her head to the side. "I must admit, the conversation did go downhill once your name was mentioned."

"I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. I couldn't hide how I felt about you forever, Walt. I think Sean knew I was in love with you before I'd even figured it out, honestly. And once Ruby called and said you'd been shot? Well… let's just say all my cards were out on the table at that point."

Walt stared, falling into Vic's eyes. He was hardly even conscious of the fact that he was drawing her against him, releasing her hands and sliding his arms around her waist to drag her inward. "Umm. Did you just say—"

"—that I love you? Damn right I did." Her face was drifting closer, and he could feel her breath on his lips. "You cowboys are a bit slow on the uptake, aren't you?"

One of his hands wound up to cradle the side of her face. "Not today." Bending his head to the side, he leaned in slowly and pressed his mouth against hers.

The response he received was instantaneous and fiery. Vic's hands dragged up his chest to wind around his neck, and he pressed his fingers into the small of her back to pull her torso against his own. Her touch was restless, roving frantically and managing to tug him closer even though he was the one in a seated position. Maybe she was actually tugging herself nearer to him?

He felt a puff of air on his face as Vic exhaled through her nose. Her lips parted to breathe in, and Walt felt one of her cool hands on his face as her tongue swept over his bottom lip and slid into his mouth. A quiet moan rose up in his throat at her actions, causing Vic to shudder and kiss him harder. Walt's hand traveled downward, fingers molding over the back pocket of her jeans and yanking her upward so that their hips were aligned.

Breaking out of their kiss on a shared gasp as their bodies made undeniably intimate contact, Walt and Vic shared a moment of eye contact that communicated so much. There was a spark in her gaze, and Walt was absolutely spellbound at the realization that such a look could be directed at him. She wriggled against him, setting his body alight with the demanding pull of her lithe form as her fingers stroked down over his shoulders to explore his slightly open shirt front.

She leaned in and kissed him softly a couple times; square on the lips, at the corner of his mouth, on the edge of his cheekbone. Walt sought to intensify the contact, sliding a hand to the back of her neck to direct those lips back to his own. They got lost in each other for long moments, the heat between them growing as the sky turned darker and his hands found their way beneath her duty jacket.

As Vic pulled at the snaps on the front of his shirt it became pretty clear where this was heading, and Christ it both scared Walt and excited him beyond reason. She must have been able to read his mind, because she drew back slightly with a gently affectionate look in her eyes.

"Is this okay?"

He regarded her intently, then bent his head to place a lingering kiss at the soft spot where the line of her jaw met her neck. She whimpered, gripping his shoulders and rolling her hips against his.

Vic's voice was breathy, unquestionably aroused. "Are you sure? If it's too much… if you wanna wait… I can go."

That was the last thing he wanted. "Don't you think we've waited long enough?"

Walt brushed his thumb over her lips and softly stroked her cheek. When he said the next words, mouth hovering inches from hers, he knew they were incredibly significant.

"I want you to stay."

**xxxxx  
>xxxxx<strong>

Well, things are looking pretty rosy for these two right now aren't they? Looks like Walt still got an opportunity to ask Vic to stay… and I don't think he was inviting her in to play checkers. ;D

Hope this update pleases you— let me know your thoughts and opinions. I will get the remainder of the story finished up as soon as I can!


	10. Chapter 10

Here's the final chapter! Thanks to everyone for all your comments and for sticking with this story. I'll be pretty busy at work for the next month and change, so I may not do another multi-part fic for a while. I've got some interesting Walt/Vic one-shots in the works, however! ;D

Warning: Some M-rated content (just a _bit_ LOL) in this one. Enjoy!

**Jackson  
><strong>**Part X**

In years to come Vic would always think back on this as the night where she finally learned the difference between having sex and making love.

Yeah, maybe the whole concept was a bit cliché, like some "She's never felt this way before" tagline from a shitty Lifetime movie, but there was no other way to describe the intense body mind and heart experience she'd been sharing with Walt for the past several hours.

It brought back hazy memories of all those similarly outmoded things her mother used to say, like "When you find the right man you'll know it." Gorski hadn't been it. Vic had known that much even while the whole thing was going on. She thought she'd found it with Sean, and things were good for a while. Ultimately sex became the only thing about their relationship that worked, and after that it was always tinged with an edge of bitterness.

When Walt had taken her by the hand and led her into the cabin, she hadn't been quite sure what to expect. It had been a weird sort of deja vu, hearkening back to some of the dreams she'd had recently. Maybe someday she'd tell Walt about those, although reality seemed to be doing a pretty damn good job of trumping those fantasies and rendering them obsolete.

Since they passed over the threshold into the bedroom, their activities had ranged from gloriously tender explorations straight through to what could only be described as out-and-out hardcore fucking, which had come as a bit of a surprise in Vic's opinion. Even her mental imaginings of Walt had been holding out on her, and his injuries didn't seem to be hindering him at all. She'd tried to treat him to a break, get him to let her drive for a while, but he'd enjoyed her thorough appraisals of his body so much that she'd ended up flat on her back with her arms pinned above her head and Walt looming above her as the bed frame thumped against the wall from the force of his thrusts.

That had been a revelation in a certain sense, the way he had overpowered her and how violently she had wanted that— the chance to relinquish control and let Walt be the strong one. Maybe it was because this didn't feel like a struggle or a contest the way sex sometimes had with Sean, or maybe it was just that she trusted Walt so completely that she could let him take charge. All she'd been able to do was stare into his eyes and whisper affectionate encouragements as he drove them to another shattering climax.

As with all things where their relationship was concerned, this new intimacy seemed to function as an instinctive partnership. In those quiet in-between moments where their breathing slowed and the sweat cooled sensuously on their heated skin, Walt held her and cherished her in a way Vic had never even known she needed. It was new for her, desiring that closeness, and she wanted him to feel it in the way she curled against him and stroked her fingers from the hollow of his throat to his shoulder and everywhere else she could reach. Walt communicated his understanding by holding her tighter and running a hand through her hair as he kissed her forehead.

What they were doing right now did not qualify as one of those moments of tranquil adoration; this was something else entirely. Walt was kneeling back on his heels, the tops of his thighs between Vic's legs and one of his arms wound around her ribcage just below her breasts to hold her against him. Her back was flush against his chest, her head lolling onto his un-bandaged shoulder as he rolled his hips to bury himself within her repeatedly. His other arm encircled her waist and reached across to her opposite hip, anchoring, bracing her at just the right angle to receive him.

It was so good, she couldn't contain her small noises of pleasure. She released several breathy moans and a whisper of his name which seemed to spur him on even further. Walt placed an open-mouthed kiss on the side of her neck behind her ear, groaning as her hand gripped his forearm where it was slung across her torso. She arched back against him as the rhythm increased slightly, gasping at the sensation of his fingers sliding downward and inward from her hip to rub— oh God— _just there_ in tandem with the deep and unrelenting penetration.

The sensory overload built rapidly, and Vic's other hand flew up to dig into the hair at the back of Walt's head and hold him to her as the movement of their joined bodies became frantic and turbulent. She choked out an ecstatic curse word, skin tingling as she ground down to feel him swelling hard and scorching inside her. One of Walt's hands had shifted slightly, molding over a breast with his thumb pressing into the edge of her nipple. His fingers moved restlessly, adding another level of delicious friction.

Walt's mouth was wet and hot against her ear as he growled in that low rumbling voice. "Vic… let it go, sweetheart. Mmmph... Love you so much—"

Those words out of his mouth sent her spiraling, body tensing and tightening as they skyrocketed to the heights of pleasure together again. Walt's hold was fierce as he surged within her and around her, strong embrace mirroring the sensual act of possession occurring below.

Collapsing on top of the already rumpled bedclothes with their limbs tangled and hands wandering and stroking, Vic continued to push her hips against Walt's in an attempt to prolong the sparks of pleasure and maintain that intense connection. She hummed with satisfaction as his hand dragged up to push a few wild blonde locks away from the side of her face. Shifting slightly, she shimmied her body upward and turned it more fully toward his. Walt was laying mostly on his back, eyes momentarily shut and an unguarded smile gracing his features. That expression of elation just made Vic want to do the whole thing all over again.

They had landed diagonally across the bed, pleasantly comfortable and well-accommodated with the exception of Walt's left foot hanging over the edge. He didn't seem to mind, exhaling luxuriously and settling his splayed hand at the small of Vic's back as she draped herself across his torso and chest.

Eventually, Vic regained her voice. "Holy shit, Walt. You are full of surprises, aren't you?" She kissed his chin, sighing as he gathered her closer.

"I guess I just needed to show you how I feel."

"You told me, too."

His eyes were open now, intent and velvet blue. As she peered down at him Vic suddenly knew that he was saying it again right then, only with his Longmire-patented lack of words. Maybe he'd been telling her that he loved her with that look for months, longer, and she'd simply never realized. She reached up to kiss him again, soft and slow, snuggling into his embrace and hoping that he could see that message in her eyes too.

All of this felt so natural, it was easy to forget that this was only the first time they'd been together like this. Was this going to be their new normal, or was it a one time deal? Vic didn't want to let the doubts creep in, but she had wanted this for so long that it almost seemed too good to be true. It was easy to float along in this bubble of bliss when it was just the two of them, but what about the outside world? There were so many problems awaiting them beyond the walls of this room, so many obstacles standing in the way of their happiness.

There was her pending divorce, which was one hundred percent guaranteed to get uglier before it went away. What if Sean found out that she and Walt had gotten together? Would he try to convince his lawyers that she'd been cheating on him all along? Not that she cared about alimony or the house or really anything like that... she'd just prefer not to have her name dragged through the mud, or Walt's name for that matter.

The distractions and dangers for Walt were even more worrisome, especially with his habit of withholding information and not asking for help with anything. Henry was still in big trouble, and there was the matter of Martha Longmire's murder still hanging around Walt's neck like an albatross. Could he ever be at peace, or truly give all of himself in a relationship with such life-altering details still evading his reach?

Even an average shift at the office was fraught with tension these days, what with Branch acting more unhinged by the day and his obsession with David Ridges interfering with the daily operations of the Sheriff's Department on a more and more frequent basis. Ferg was feeling the pressure, too, especially with Walt and Vic teaming up and giving him the menial jobs on nearly every case. How would the other two deputies react to such a change in her relationship with Walt? Would all that apparent favoritism begin to look like something else? She could lose what legitimacy she had left in her colleagues' eyes if Branch and Ferg decided she was just some chick that screwed the boss...

Vic didn't want to think about these things, not now, not in the midst of what should be a perfect moment here in Walt's arms. But if there was anything she'd learned from all the shit that had hit the fan in the past two years, it was that keeping it all in was just a recipe for disaster.

"Walt?"

"Hmm?" He sounded barely awake, and she felt a stab of remorse for disturbing his hard-earned peace.

She whispered, pressing her face into his neck. "Are we really gonna do this?"

His body tightened, betraying an increased alertness. One of his hands slid up to her neck and urged her face upward so she was looking right at him. "What d'you mean?"

"Do you really think we can be together? So much has happened and our lives are still so… fucked up. Can we actually make this work?"

He was touching her face again, the same way he had at the hospital. _"__You__'__ve got me, Vic.__" _That was what he had said. If they had each other, could that be enough to see them through all the trials to come?

Thoughtful but oddly confident, the affection behind his gaze made her insides feel all liquid and fluttery. "I don't know what'll happen, Vic. I'm just a man and Lord knows there's nothing I can promise you, but…"

His fingers were warm on her face, other arm still holding her tight. Walt made a very pleasing picture as he paused in his speech; tousled hair, solid body, perpetually unshaven face. He radiated sincerity and sensuality in equal measure from his position sprawled beneath her, and Vic wondered once again how she'd been lucky enough to end up here.

"…I don't think I can stop being in love with you now that I finally let myself start. That make any sense?"

How could he make everything sound so utterly uncomplicated? That was the same way she felt in a nutshell, only expressed with a level of eloquence she'd never achieve through a lifetime of trying. "Yeah. Yeah, it does."

Vic felt herself smiling, undeniably content almost to the point of euphoria in the simple knowledge that they loved each other and they would both fight their damnedest to make it through all the hardships that lay ahead, together.

**xxxxx  
><strong>**FIN  
><strong>**xxxxx**

The end! I considered adding an epilogue to this to sort of wrap things up, but nothing was working and I decided that the big potentiality of what is to come actually worked quite well as an end to the story. After all, we've all got _Longmire _S4 to look forward to now, so speculation is the name of the game!

I would absolutely love to hear everyone's thoughts and comments on this final installment and the completed story in general. I'm very happy that I chose to begin writing _Longmire_ fic, and I'm proud to have completed my second multi-chapter story. Thanks again to all who reviewed along the way. :D


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